


Breathe

by SolidHawk



Series: Take the Gentle Path [1]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John and Rook both have been through some STUFF, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, They'll eventually come to a mutual understanding of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 108,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolidHawk/pseuds/SolidHawk
Summary: Deputy Anna Bishop gets taken to John's bunker by his second capture party and doesn't wind up escaping. She's forced to "confess" to John, stirring up old and painful memories in the process. However, it becomes apparent that John and Bishop aren't quite as different as they seem. Birds of a feather...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys - this is my first published fanfiction in like a decade, and my absolute first on this site. It's been a while but I'm ready to get back in the saddle - hope you enjoy!

Her lungs burned but she kept on running, the grass noisy as she tore through it. Just ahead, Boomer – stalwart, beautiful, noble Boomer – was leading her through the brush, picking the easiest path for her to follow. The commotion of the group of Peggies behind them had died down, but she knew better than to trust that they weren’t still tailing her. She wouldn’t stop running, wouldn’t slow down for anything until she was in sight of Fall’s End. In view of the armed guard that now sat around its borders 24/7 so they could see her and not let the Peggies take Deputy Anna Bishop alive again.

Just minutes before, she and Boomer had been departing from Rye & Sons Aviation, having said goodbye to Nick and Kim for the night. They’d been heading east, towards Henbane River, when they’d heard the telltale squeal of wheels cutting through the field towards them. She’d had a single moment to unsling her assault rifle from over her shoulder before the cultists had lobbed smoke grenades at her. Through her own coughing and Boomer’s enraged barking, she had heard her assailants hollering, “John wants her alive!”

She’d fired blindly at chest height and taken off running in the opposite direction.

There had been an attempt at pursuit, but once Bishop was out of the smoke and confusion she was able to focus and it hadn’t been too difficult to keep them at bay. But she wasn’t naïve: she knew that they were packing those godforsaken Bliss bullets that they’d used to take her down once before. It would only take a single hit from one of those to disorient her enough for them to converge and overwhelm her.

They’d been generous in the amount of bullets they fired her way; fortunately, in their haste their aim was shit. She’d dropped into the camouflage of the high grass around her and held her gun at the ready, listening to the telltale stomping through the field that alerted her to the location and path of every single person in pursuit.

 _You only need one shot_ , her father’s voice echoed in her head. _Confusion and panic is contagious. Can’t let their sloppiness affect you._

So she’d calmed her shaking hands and waited for them all to sprint past. She listened to the approach of the final man and leapt out to intercept him before he bulldozed through her position. He hadn’t even had a chance to yell before she’d driven her knife into his neck and silenced him for good.

She motioned to Boomer and took off as quietly as she could in pursuit of the others. Boomer had launched onto the closest one’s back and drew the attention of the others with the man’s grisly screams. Bishop had used the distraction to take them out neatly one at a time, crouched back in the grass to remain all but invisible in the confusion. The screams of the fallen had drawn a second vehicle their way but she and Boomer had already leapt a fence and put enough distance behind them to make a clean escape possible.

Just had to keep moving.

There was no point in staying and fighting them all off. The fear of those Bliss bullets was enough to make her err on the side of caution, even just this once. And if they followed her straight up to Fall’s End’s doorstep? Well, it would just make her night, being able to safely dispose of them too. She hated backing down from a fight. Made her skin crawl. Made her want to dig her heels into the dirt and stand her ground just to show them she was willing to go down swinging.

Her gait didn’t falter, her legs pumping underneath her at maximum velocity. Bishop’s chest felt ready to burst but the fencing of a derelict home at the edge of Fall’s End was in sight and she couldn’t let up now.

“DEPUTY, INCOMING!” she yelled, repeating it over and over to alert the armed watch.

She and Boomer tore onto the main street and it was like crossing a finish line. Her leg muscles were the consistency of jelly as she stumbled to a stop. She let herself drop unceremoniously onto the asphalt, drawing in haggard breath after breath. Boomer had plopped down just a few feet away, his tongue lolling out with each labored pant.

Someone came up and asked how she was and she sent them away with a nod and a rasped out command to check behind her and make sure the Peggies hadn’t followed. When she was left alone again, she allowed herself to sprawl out onto the road entirely. The asphalt was still warm from the sweltering sun of the day and she relished in the feeling against her sweaty skin, even if she still felt on fire from the exertion of the chase.

She was given a few minutes of solitude before she heard the clomping of boots approaching. Cracking open one eye, she saw Pastor Jerome looking down at her in amusement.

“Marathon training?” he joked.

Bishop cracked him a lopsided smile.

“Feels like,” she replied.

With a groan, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and gave him a quick rundown. The amusement lifted from his face, replaced with grim worry.

“Marked again, huh?” he mused aloud. “That doesn’t bode well for anyone. We need you, Deputy.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to remain out of their reach,” she said. “But they weren’t messing around just now. They almost had me.”

He walked with her to the Spread Eagle, where Mary May was stationed behind the bar. She requested water for Boomer and herself as Jerome continued to speak in her ear.

“-the Nelsons are trapped up by the Grace of God Church. Grace is looking to handle it, but I worry about her going alone-“

“I’ll radio Sharky and Adelaide in a little and ask them to head this direction tomorrow,” Bishop replied. “Adelaide can meet up with Grace. And Sharky…well, I’d rather have him watching my back for the near future.”

“If you’re relying on Sharky Boshaw to keep you safe, boy are you in trouble,” Mary May joked as she slid a glass her way.

“John Seed’s sending more capture parties after her,” Pastor Jerome answered for her as she chugged the water presented to her. “Latest one chased her all the way back into town.”

“Shit,” Mary May conceded after second. “Deputy, it goes without saying – we can’t be losing you right now.”

“I’m doing my best,” Bishop said after she’d finished her glass, pushing it forward for Mary May to refill. “But it’s becoming a real pain in the ass at this point.”

“You’ve really kicked the hornet’s nest,” Mary May said over her pitcher. “John must have it bad for you or something.”

Bishop, who had been watching Boomer lap water from the bowl at his feet, quickly turned a scowl back on the barkeep.

“Don’t you start with that,” she warned. “I already get enough of it from Sharky and Adelaide!”

Mary May smiled mischievously but left to finish wiping down the countertop at the other side of the bar. Bishop watched her go before turning back to Pastor Jerome.

“I’ll call Grace in a minute and have her meet up with Adelaide here tomorrow morning,” she said. “There’s been a lot of activity by Sunrise Threshing today – I think patrols should be beefed up out there to make sure the Peggies aren’t thinking of trying to take the place back.”

He hummed in agreement, walking with her towards the phone by the door.

“And what about yourself, Deputy?” he asked.

“I figure I’ll take Sharky out east and look through some of the prepper stashes before crossing the Henbane,” she told him while rubbing her arm. “Might lay low out there for a few days and see if it’ll take some of the heat off me.”

“Not a bad idea,” Jerome agreed. “We’ve got a lock on things here for the time being. We won’t call for you unless things take an extreme turn for the worse.”

“And I’ll come running,” she promised. “Though this whole 'out of sight, out of mind' shit is really starting to get to me. I hate having to slink around with my tail between my legs all the time. Pisses me off.”

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,” Jerome said sagely. “Your work here has been a godsend – but your presence alone gives the people around here hope. Keeping yourself safe and out of the clutches of the Seeds is just as important as taking the fight to them.”

Bishop blinked at him owlishly, touched. She didn’t know how to respond to such praise; instead she averted her gaze and messed with her braid before changing the subject.

“I’m gonna see about getting dinner and crashing here for the night,” she said, eyeing the phone on the table.

“Get some rest, Deputy,” Jerome said as he clapped a hand on her shoulder.

He pulled open the door to the bar and started out into the cooling night air. She stopped him by calling out over her shoulder.

“God be with you.”

He turned back to look at her in surprise before smiling fondly.

“God be with you,” he returned.

She stared a moment before smiling, the gesture not reaching her hard eyes.

“God’s never with me,” she said quietly.

His face held sadness that he tried to mask as he stepped out into the night. She felt a rush of regret for saying that to him but pushed it aside. Calling out to Casey back in the kitchen for a plate of something – anything – for dinner, she sat herself in front of the phone and carefully dialed in the number for the Lamb of God Church.

“Grace Armstrong, please,” she spoke to whichever Resistance member answered instead, rubbing her eye tiredly as she did, “This is Deputy Bishop.”

She waited patiently as she heard voices murmuring in the background and the exchange of the phone between hands.

“Hey, Dep,” Grace greeted her. “Good to hear you’re still kicking.”

“Likewise, Grace,” she answered back fondly. “Listen, I hear you’re looking to do a rescue mission for the Nelsons.”

“They can’t have much longer,” Grace said gravely. “They’ve been dug in for days and the Peggies aren’t letting up. Got to move on them quick.”

“How’s this sound? Meet up in Fall’s End tomorrow and Adelaide will fly you in,” Bishop said, twirling the cord around her finger. “Jeff Mitchell and Connie Beaufort are both hanging around here, I can talk them into rounding out the unit.”

She heard Grace sigh on the other end of the line.

“Adelaide Drubman,” she griped. “Is there no one else?”

“Well, I could always get Sharky to come instead,” Bishop answered impishly; she listened to the silence on the other end of the line for a moment before continuing with a grin. “Or Hurk…”

“Tell Adelaide to be there by 8 AM sharp,” came Grace’s quick response. “I want this done as soon as possible.”

“She’ll be here,” she promised cheerfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care.”

“You too.”

Bishop put the phone back in its cradle for a few seconds before lifting it back up to her ear. She punched in familiar digits for Henbane territory.

“Yo, yo – Sharky here!”

“Hey, Sharky. It’s Bishop.”

“Dep! I was just thinking about you!” Sharky boomed into her ear.

She tried not to recoil from the phone’s volume and smiled mischievously.

“Oh, were you? What made you think of me?” she asked brazenly.

There were a few moments of stammering from the other end of the line.

“Well, I, uh, was just, uh, thinking about all the, uh, Peggies we roasted yesterday!” he stammered. “Yeah, like that one coming down the zip line you shot off onto his ass! And then I melted his face off!”

 _Nice save_.

“That one was memorable,” she conceded, letting him off the hook. “Listen, Sharky, I’d like to have you out here tomorrow. I’ve been Marked again and I’d like an extra pair of eyes to watch my back.”

“Consider me there, amigo!” he replied instantly. “I will have eyes all over you!”

There was another pause as he thought over what he’d just said.

“I-I mean, I’ll be watching your back! At all times! And n-not your backside, just your back! Though, if we’re gonna be real for a sec, I have stared before. It’s not something I’m too proud of-“

“Sharky,” she interrupted, trying not to laugh into the receiver, “Just be here at a reasonable hour tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am!” came his subdued but enthusiastic reply.

She was shaking her head as she hung up the phone and only allowed herself to let out a chortle of laughter after the line was dead. Mary May came forward with a plate and raised an eyebrow at her but put dinner down in front of her wordlessly. Bishop called “thanks” to her over her shoulder; she turned back to the phone and allowed herself a moment to mentally prepare before she dialed up Adelaide’s number. It rang and rang...long enough that Bishop was prepared to hang up before she heard a click on the other end of the line.

“I had to leave Xander and a steamy round of bedroom pilates for this, so this better be a goddamn emergency…“

“…Adelaide, it’s Deputy Bishop-“

“SUGAR! Oh, sweetheart, it’s about time you came calling after me. You know, I’ve missed you…”

Bishop sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

* * *

 

_She was dangling precariously, her stomach in knots. Bishop looked to her right where Hudson also hung upside down, her face blank as she remained blissfully unconscious. There was shouting from outside the wreckage; Bishop could see a throng of people gathering around the lone figure on top of a car. It took her a moment to place where she was; fear seized her heart as she suddenly remembered this moment in time._

We’ve got to get out of here! _Her mind screamed._

_She turned to Hudson, finally awake and tugging at her seatbelt. Bishop reached to her just as she unfastened herself and fell to the helicopter’s ceiling - now serving as the floor. In an instant, hands were reaching in and grabbing Hudson. Bishop grabbed at her too, catching hold of her leg and pulling with all her strength. Hudson screamed and thrashed and Bishop felt her grip grow precarious._

“HUDSON!” _she screamed as her partner was wrenched from her hands and out from the wreckage, her screams growing distant as she was forced away into the darkness._ “HUDSON!!!”

_She hadn’t been able to help her, just as before. Bishop turned her gaze to the helicopter’s cab and could only watch in horror as Pratt was dragged kicking and screaming from the pilot’s seat._

“PRATT! PRATT” _she yelped, fighting against her seatbelt to try and reach him._

_The figure across from her finally freed himself and fell to the metal floor with a bang. Burke wasted no time in bolting, not sparing a glance back at her._

“MARSHAL!” _she screamed, reaching after him only to draw back as flames erupted from the propeller buried somewhere in the ground under her feet._

_They didn’t touch her but she burned all the same. Bishop fought the seatbelt at her waist and yelped as the flames seemed to lick her skin, freezing and scorching her all at once. She couldn’t get it to release – she was trapped! There was no escape this time, it was-_

_She forced her eyes shut as a gust of hot air rushed through the cab; the second she reopened them, the scene had changed. There was a road directly in front of her, Peggies in the back of trucks armed to the teeth firing their rifles and mounted guns. She could only sit, paralyzed by shock, as the seat of the truck bounced violently with each hasty maneuver to outrun them._

“Rook, hang on!”

_Bishop turned and looked to the Marshal in the driver’s seat, his eyes darting to and fro as he tracked the Peggies trying to force them off course. Her gaze turned back to the road ahead and felt a sick sense of déjà vu as she recognized the bridge they were headed for._

“They’re gonna blow the bridge!” _she shouted desperately; the Marshal seemed unfazed, still driving straight for it._ “BURKE, THEY’RE GONNA BLOW THE BRIDGE-“

_The ground exploded beneath them before they even made it there. Bishop clung to her seat as they went airborne, her voice trapped in her throat even as she tried to scream. Water suddenly flooded the truck’s cab and Bishop’s lungs burned as she inhaled involuntarily. Her hands went to her seatbelt again, still practically soldered around her hips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Burke unbuckle himself and kick free of the driver’s seat._

“DON’T LEAVE ME!” _she screamed, drawing more water into her mouth._ “PLEASE-“

_He swam away even as she reached for him, coughing at the water filling her lungs. She pawed at her throat for a moment before she fought her seatbelt again, pressing the release over and over and over- It finally gave way just as her vision began to blur as she started to drown. She kicked free of the truck and swam towards the shine of the moon on the water’s surface. It was so far away and she was so slow…there was no way she’d reach it in time._

_Just as she began to accept her fate she felt hands grabbing her shirt and hauling her upward; she broke the water’s surface with a gasp, coughing hoarsely as she emptied her lungs. Her wild eyes looked to the tattooed hands around her neck and shoulder before she looked directly into the dispassionate face of John Seed. He smirked at her and she pawed desperately at his fingers, trying to wrest herself from his grasp._

“This one’s not clean,” _he said as he shoved her violently back underwater before she could scream._

_She broke the water’s surface hard, her hands grabbing John’s and trying to force him off. His grip was like a vice, unbreakable; she was left pounding at his arms with weak wristed fists as she felt herself growing more and more faint-_

* * *

 

Bishop jolted awake with a start, gasping for air. Boomer was licking her arm comfortingly, having clearly been disturbed from his own sleep by her thrashing and crying. Shakily, she put a hand on his head and tried silently apologizing, scratching between his ears with trembling fingers.

She’d always been prone to nightmares – but since that day at Joseph’s compound, they were relentless, plaguing her nearly every time she got a chance to shut her eyes. Looking to the window adjacent to the small cot she and Boomer occupied, she could still make out the twinkle of stars.

Still nighttime…but for how much longer? Did it even matter? Her heart was pounding in her chest, adrenaline rushing through her veins…there was no way she was getting back to sleep anytime soon. Bishop slumped back against her pillow; Boomer curled into a tight ball in her lap, looking up at her consolingly. She buried one hand in his fur and rubbed him gently; the other rose to her throat and prodded the seemingly tender flesh.

Even if it was just a dream, she could still feel John Seed’s hands there…

* * *

 

Mary May did a double take as she emerged from down the stairs when she saw Bishop sitting at the bar pouring over her map.

“You’re up early,” she noted as she yawned and stretched.

“Busy day,” Bishop lied, not looking up at her as she meandered behind the counter.

The truth was Bishop had not been able to fall back asleep after her nightmare. There’d been a half hour or so where she dozed off but she’d reawakened when she could feel another dream materializing in the recesses of her mind. She’d forced herself up, ignoring just how tired she was and started the day off just before sunrise.

Mary May found the pot of coffee Bishop had brewed for herself sitting on the kitchen counter near where Casey was preparing breakfast and helped herself to a cup.

“What’s on your mind, Deputy?” Mary asked after her first sip.

“Plotting out some prepper stashes to look into on my way east,” she said in a half-truth. “Figure after I head back over the Henbane River I’ll go see what help the Cougars need.”

“The Cougars,” Mary May smiled over the lip of her mug, “Used to enjoy watching games on the weekend with my daddy. Glad they’re still using the name.”

Bishop flattened out her map as she reached for her flannel shirt to straighten out.

“I could get you a button if you wanted,” she whispered conspiratorially as she showed off the badge Virgil had pinned on her weeks back, “I know a guy…”

Mary May chuckled softly in response.

“Y’know, I’d like that,” she said a moment later. “Even if it’s hard coordinating with them over the river, it’s still good to know they’re out there fighting the good fight just as hard as we are here.”

Bishop nodded.

“They at least have the advantage of four solid walls keeping the Angels and Peggies at bay,” she said. “You and Pastor Jerome managing to hold Fall’s End now with such limited resources is nothing short of incredible.”

“Didn’t take you for such a charmer, Deputy,” Mary May teased softly. “Fall’s End fell once – we’ll be damned if we let it happen again…Besides, we all know none of this would have been possible without you coming along and saving our asses almost single-handedly.”

“You would have been alright without me. Looked like you were already halfway up and armed when I showed up, anyway,” Bishop replied with a wink.

Mary May smiled for a moment before letting it drop from her face, looking tired instead.

“All joking aside, we won’t ever forget what you’ve done for us – what you continue to do for us,” she said seriously. “Don’t be a stranger while you’re across the river – give us a ring from time to time, ya hear? If nothing else, for my own peace of mind.”

Bishop blinked at her in surprise before giving a small nod.

“Sure thing…”

Casey spared her any embarrassment of coming up with something more to say when he slid a plate in front of Mary May. She murmured a soft thanks and took the omelet without question; he gestured to the stove and Bishop waved him off.

“Nah, just coffee for me still,” she said.

“Suit yourself,” he said as the front door opened and Pastor Jerome came in and seated himself next to Bishop.

“I’ll have whatever she’s passing up,” Jerome said to Casey as he slipped back into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Bishop greeted him; he echoed the sentiment.

“Everyone’s off to an early start today it seems,” he said as he watched Mary May bustle over to him with the coffee pot, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

“Just seems like today’s gonna be a long one,” she said as she poured him a drink. “And a hot one too.”

“Just perfect for poking your nose in compromised bunkers and drain pipes for supplies,” Bishop said sarcastically over her own mug.

“You be careful,” Jerome warned, “You can never tell which places the Peggies have caught wind of or not.”

“Will do,” she murmured around her mug.

“…and keep in touch, Deputy,” Jerome added after a moment. “Even if it’s just through Dutch, let us know you’re still alive and well out there.”

“Going away for a bit?” Casey asked as he emerged from the kitchen with a plate for Jerome. “Shame. I wanted to talk with you about getting the Testy Festy up and running.”

Bishop felt the coffee slid right back up her throat as she choked.

“The _WHAT_?” she asked around her hacking.

Beside her, both Mary May and Jerome erupted in laughter.

* * *

 

Sharky was late. That was no surprise; he rarely was ever ready to go before 10 AM. But you’d think with martial law and a cult breathing down the necks of the entire county 24/7, he might have amended his sleep schedule.

Bishop sighed and leaned back irritably against the outside of the Spread Eagle. Adelaide had already flown in and picked up Grace and company a few hours ago, leaving Bishop alone with Boomer and her thoughts. The radio at her hip crackled to life only occasionally, sending in reports and calls for aid. She’d ignored a great number of them, deeming them too far away and too risky for just herself and Boomer.

As loathe as she was to play it safe, having people like Mary May and Pastor Jerome pleading for her safety made her refrain from being her normal, reckless self. It was strange, having so many people caring for her well-being. Made her realize _this_ was probably what a well-adjusted person normally felt.

Out of habit, her fingers reached for the badge tucked away inside of her shirt, rubbing her thumb over its shield in circles. Once this shit was over, would the sensation remain? If she somehow managed to survive to the end, would she even stick around? When things got too cozy…she had a tendency to bolt.

Only time would tell. She didn’t like to think that far ahead. It distracted from the now and she needed to be focused on what was unfolding in the present; like the latest call for aid coming through the radio…

“Deputy? If you’re there, we’ve got another wolf problem over here at Red’s Farm Supply.”

Red’s Farm Supply…That was only a stone’s throw away from Fall’s End. She glared up and down the road for any sign of Sharky or his big ass SUV and sighed again when she was once more greeted with an empty street. Tucking the badge back into safety, she reached for her radio.

“Dep here. I read ya,” was all she said before ducking back into the Spread Eagle.

Mary May and Pastor Jerome were both crowded around a map of Holland Valley, covered in scrawl and circles. They both looked up as she approached.

“We heard you answer that last one,” Jerome said.

“I’m gonna go check that out. It’s close enough to town that I feel alright setting out alone,” she said. “If Sharky ever decides to grace us with his presence, could you send him on after me? I want to head out towards O’Hara’s and look for that prepper stash sometime this year…”

“I’ll tell him where to find ya,” Mary May said. “Take care of yourself out there.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bishop answered in farewell.

Boomer looked set to follow her back out the door. She knelt down to scratch him behind the ears.

“Stay here, okay?” she told him. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

He whined in confusion and tilted his head. She stood up and put a hand out in front of her.

“Stay,” she commanded.

He sank back down to the floor, resting his head on his paws. She smiled at him warmly.

“Good boy.”

* * *

 

“Sharky Boshaw, if I ever see you again, I’ll slug you,” Bishop said sourly as she trudged closer to Red’s. “I don’t even want you to show up – stay in bed! Next time, I’ll just ask Nick.”

The heat was abominable at this hour and it wasn’t even close to midday. It put her in a foul mood as she was forced to trek through the dense field alone, the bugs sheltering in the tall grass flying up into her face and buzzing in her ears. Swatting at her neck irritably again, it was a welcome relief to see the road in sight, even if it meant having to slip into a more cautious approach. There was no traffic on the road save for one Peggie 18-wheeler headed east. She made note of its course as she hid crouched in the grass, waiting for it to slowly crawl past. When the coast was clear, she cradled her rifle close to her chest and stealthily trotted across the street.

Red’s Farm Supply was surprisingly dead for this hour. Normally there were at least a few Resistance guards patrolling the outskirts but there was no one in sight. And she wasn’t seeing any immediate signs of wolf activity like she’d been lead to believe. Her brow knit in confusion as she approached the store front, looking around for any sign of activity. She lowered her rifle slowly and reached for the walkie at her hip.

“Fall’s End, this is Dep,” she spoke into her radio. ‘I’m here at Red’s...but I’m not seeing anything….”

She trailed off as suspicion slowly gave way to realization, the hairs on her arms and neck standing on end.

“Jerome,” she said curtly, “I’m heading back now.”

“Make it fast, Deputy,” his reply came in quickly. “We’ll send an escort to meet you.”

She clicked down the receiver to speak again but was cut off by squealing tires and gunfire. Her knees flexed out of reflex, dropping down just in time to avoid a bullet shattering the glass door behind her. Had she been a second slower, it would have easily connected with her neck or head. Adrenaline surging through her veins, she fell on her knees and scrabbled towards relative shelter by an abandoned car. Her rifle was slick with sweat in her hands as she tried to steady herself for a fight.

She gave herself two breaths to steady her shaking limbs before she leaned out of shelter to return fire. There was smoke everywhere, making finding targets nigh impossible. She fired blindly into spaces she was hearing shouts from and prayed they connected with something.

 _Sharky, I take back everything I said_ , she thought pitifully as fire was returned at her; she’d give anything to hear his off-key singing bursting through the clearing as he came to her aid.

There was more vehicles peeling out somewhere up the road. Worst case scenario, they were all Peggies converging on the scene to take her on all by her lonesome self. If they were coming from the east, they’d easily flank her position. Time to move.

She grabbed a grenade from off her belt and ripped the pin out. Letting it cook for a few heartbeats, she listened to the Peggies trying to advance on her position. She lobbed it over the car in a swinging arch, landing it squarely in the smoke field. Its explosion shook the ground, making the car rock towards her. She listened to the cries and yells of those near the blast and steeled herself as she took off running. Someone staggered out of the smoke and she leveled him with a bullet to the heart.

A sharp pain rocked her shoulder, causing her to stumble. Her eyes widened in horror: _she’d been hit!_

“FUCK!” she snarled, both in pain and mounting panic.

Shit, that stuff worked fast. Her vision was already blurring, kaleidoscoping to and fro as she tried to bolt. Another shot clipped her in the side, knocking the rifle out of her hands. She stumbled, knees connecting with the hard ground, but barely feeling it through the sudden euphoric rush. Her mind was frantically trying to get the rest of her body to work in collaboration, but was steadily losing control.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ She cursed as her legs refused to support her anymore.

Game over. They were closing in now, like a pack of wolves on a downed elk. She crawled as far as she could go before curling into herself on her stomach, trying to growl out a challenge but instead just hissing in discomfort.

The largest oaf of the hunting party approached, his loud footfalls thudding into her drug addled ears like distant thunder. He used his foot to roll her onto her back; she used what was left of her strength to aim the pistol she’d been cradling close to her belly and emptied its clip at him.

“Fuck you,” she slurred, feeling her rage quelling with the onset of sleep.

The Bliss didn’t get the chance to knock her out. One of the other Peggies stepped up quickly, lifted her up by the collar of her shirt and socked her straight in the jaw. She wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or not to be spared from the Bliss but her head connected with the asphalt and she thought no more as all went black.

* * *

 

 

“Under a blue moon I saw you   
So soon you'll take me   
Up in your arms   
Too late to beg you or cancel it   
Though I know it must be the killing time   
Unwillingly mine

Fate   
Up against your will   
Through the thick and thin   
He will wait until   
You give yourself to him”

_ The Killing Moon, Echo & The Bunnymen _


	2. Chapter 2

_It was midday. The sun was high in the sky, birds were chirping and cawing. People were bustling on the sidewalks and enjoying the afternoon._

_So why then was the sky a disturbing, hazy shade of red?_

_It wasn’t just the sky, Bishop realized after a moment, blinking the world into focus. The air itself was red, a frightening foggy film that touched everything in sight. But no one else seemed to notice – not the patrons at the diner across the street enjoying their lunches, not the mailman tending to the dropbox at the corner. And certainly not the two adults on either side of her, both smiling together over a shared joke._

_“Hey, Annie – what’s with that face?” the man beside her asked, his green eyes twinkling._

_Something wasn’t right. Bishop felt it in her bones; fear and despair were paralyzing her to the spot even as her body urged her to run. She tried turning to the man beside her, to warn him, but she caught sight of movement behind him and she froze._

_A shadowy figure was making its way down the street; its movements were precise and menacing, charting a path directly towards them. Bishop’s eyes widened, remembering suddenly why this scene seemed so devastatingly familiar._

_She grabbed the man beside her desperately, trying to force him back through the doorway behind him. He remained rooted to the spot, staring at her strangely, the woman at his side mirroring the same expression. Bishop tried to scream but her voice caught in her throat, the only sound escaping hoarse and muted._

_They had to run, they had to hide! They had to-_

* * *

 

There were screams somewhere off in the distance, breaking through her sleep. Or dragging her out of an unconscious state – she wasn’t sure which.

Bishop was slow to rouse, head heavy with fog; it took her a minute to finally force her eyes open. She was greeted with cloudy vision, her clothes swimming in and out of focus under her nose. Her memories were floating just out of reach, even as she grasped desperately for them. What the fuck had happened? Where in the world was she?

The shouting remained a distant echo, even as her hearing began to strengthen. But there was some muffled sound coming from nearby that was insistent, as if reaching out to her. She struggled to lift her head to seek out the source of the noise. Her neck felt weak, unable to support the weight of it. Her face ached, for some forgotten reason; the pain was only growing stronger with each passing second as she slowly became more and more aware.

She made to reach up and touch her tender cheek and met resistance at her wrists. Through her blurred vision, her eyes began to process the sight of rope tying down both of her hands. She tested her legs and found they couldn’t move either.  Panic began to well up from deep down, muted by the sluggish state of her brain.

Eyes darting around wildly, she tried taking stock of her surroundings. The lighting was dim and eerie, tinting the room a nightmarish red. There was something dark speckling the floor not far away, leading up to a dirty workbench.

Movement out of the corner of her eye startled her, finally drawing her gaze to the only other figure in the room. Someone else was tied up a few yards away, struggling wildly against their restraints. Her vision strengthened and she found herself looking upon a familiar uniform, nearly identical to the one discarded and burned back at Dutch’s bunker. It took a moment for her to make the connection, looking up into the tear-filled eyes of her partner and finally achieving some clarity.

“Hudson…,” she whispered hoarsely, feeling a surge of adrenaline spiking through her system and waking her up fully.

It came back suddenly in waves: The call out to the supply depot, the capture party ambushing her, the Bliss bullets…

And now being face to face with Hudson, in what could only be the belly of the beast. John’s bunker.

_Oh, fuck._

As if on cue, whistling erupted from somewhere behind her; a moment later, John Seed was strolling into view. She watched, eyes wide as saucers, as he placed a bowl on the cart beside her and continued his trek to the workbench across the way. Her eyes darted from him to Hudson, still fighting against the ropes at her wrists and screaming herself hoarse against her gag. Only when he turned around and faced Bishop fully did she give him her undivided attention. The way he smiled at her…was so indescribably unnerving. So serene, so charming…

So utterly fake.

His smile never reached his eyes; they remained hard and impenetrable. He was particularly good at disguising it, distracting others from the real emotions at play inside himself. He wore a mask in the form of a smile – a tactic she was all too familiar with, though she had never been as good at it as he evidently was.

“My parents were the first ones to teach me about The Power of Yes…”

She watched him turn back to his toolbox and pull out what appeared to be…

Horror didn’t quite describe it. How it felt to see him holding a strip of bloody skin between his fingers. Her stomach turned as he secured it to the backboard of the workbench with a single click from his staple gun. She didn’t need to see what sin was etched into that flesh; she knew enough from the Baptism and the stories whispered to her by Nick and the others around Fall’s End of what John Seed did to his victims. What waited in store for her…

“-and I experienced pain after pain after pain after pain!”

He slammed the staple gun down, shaking the whole bench. She flinched involuntarily, waiting for the inevitable hit to follow. But it never came. John merely turned to face her again as he continued.

“And when I didn’t think I could take anymore…I did.”

He reached into the tote tray he’d set aside and grabbed a tool she’d never seen before; still, she had an inkling what its purpose was and felt her heart stop. Stalking back over, he pointed the lamp off to the side in her face and clicked it on. Momentarily blinded, she squinted her eyes until she could see again, taking in the sight of him attaching the tattoo gun to its power cord. He revved it up, testing its motor, and she felt her heart begin to pound in her chest, terror beginning to course through her.

“-All I could say was…Yes.”

He looked from her eyes to the instrument in his hand and smirked to himself, evidently seeing the apprehension written plainly across her face. The moment he placed the gun back down on the cart to the side, she found she could breathe again; the relief was short-lived, however, as he stepped closer and loomed over her.

Before she even had a chance to feel alarmed, he had her undershirt in his hands and was ripping it open with ease. Her eyes widened, the only reaction she could provide. She found herself paralyzed, unable to snarl out anything in protest; there was something wholly unsettling in the way he was eyeing the expanse of her chest that left her utterly mute. In the back of her mind, she knew he was plotting out where and what he was going to mark her; whatever sin he deemed her guilty of that he would etch into her flesh so he could then cut it off to adorn his wall like the others.

He reached for the bowl he had placed down earlier and brought the sponge within it to her chest. She couldn’t stop herself from jolting at the first touch of cold water, goosebumps pebbling her skin. Her eyes could look nowhere but up at John as he scrubbed at the expanse of her sternum, cool rivulets burning trails down her breasts and soaking her bra.

“-the best gift isn’t the one you get, it’s the one you give. And giving…takes courage…”

He connected eyes with her once more before pulling away, leaving her shaking from the cold and discomfort. Marching back towards the workbench, he began gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke.

“…The courage to own your sin; to etch it on to your flesh and carry its burden. And when you have endured - when you have truly begun to atone – to cut it out like a cancer, and display it for all to see!”

There was no metaphor there. She knew it. Hudson knew it too; her partner screamed and struggled futilely against her restraints once more. John grabbed a tool from his tote tray to brandish and Bishop felt her body tense with alarm as she recognized it: a knife sharpener.

“I’m going to teach you courage! Teach you how to say ‘Yes’ so you can confront your weaknesses! Confront your sins!”

He was almost manic as he paced between Bishop and Hudson; his voice grew progressively louder as he began to shout, filling the small space with solely the sound of it, easily drowning out Hudson’s noises of distress. He delivered his last line directly to Bishop, marching towards her, tool still in hand.

“You will swim across an ocean of pain, and emerge – free! For only then can you truly begin to atone.”

He jabbed her lightly with the head of the sharpener. Not hard enough to injure but with enough pressure to make her breath quicken. The look on his face was absolutely chilling; she had no time to decipher the glint in his eyes before he was backing off again, leaving her trembling in his wake. She felt nauseous, whole body tense with trepidation as he stalked away. He turned back to face her as he leaned against the bench, sharpener held at the ready.

“So who wants to go first?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Bishop was too horrified to move, let alone speak; her eyes were stuck on John, standing there waiting for a response. Hudson was gagged. There was only one person who could answer him and they all knew it. Still, silence reigned.

“Which one?”

He really was waiting for her to give him what he wanted: to say “yes”.

_Fuck him._

Spite fueled her; it would be simple to maintain her silence and let the man stand there all day. Refuse to play his little game and see how long before he lost his composure. Not too long, judging by how his eyes were hardening with each passing second.

Bishop could only hold his gaze a moment longer before she looked to Hudson. Her partner was screaming against her gag, wrenching wildly in her chair. Hudson, who had always been cool and composed – the very epitome of what she strived to be - was like a cornered animal, ready to chew her own leg off to escape the trap. Bishop felt her heart constrict painfully in her chest.

John’s voice strained, his anger evident as the remainder of his patience quickly evaporated.

“Someone’s got to _choose_!”

“Yes!”

The word slipped from her lips before she even realized what she’d done. She watched as Hudson quieted, her eyes widening in a combination of shock and horror. Bishop averted her gaze back to John before she lost nerve, her gaze imploring.

_Please don’t hurt her anymore._

The anger in his face morphed into surprise. Not even a moment later, his eyes were shining with triumph as he grinned, leaping to his feet in elation.

“Yes! YES!”

Bishop felt her stomach turn and looked quickly back to Hudson. She wanted to meet her gaze, to let her know how sorry she was, that everything was gonna be okay. But John was putting himself directly in her line of sight, walking back up to her face and blocking out Hudson.

“You’re not going to regret this. I promise,” he told her earnestly.

If it meant keeping him away from Hudson, from sparing her any more torment, then she agreed with him: she wouldn’t regret it. But she also knew what was to come – what lay in wait. And it made her feel cold and faint.

John tossed the knife sharpener aside as he quickly made his way back to Hudson.

“Now before we begin, I think it’s only proper Deputy Hudson goes back to her room,” he was saying, over the beginning of Bishop’s protests and Hudson’s muffled screams. “Confessions are meant to be private, after all.”

Hudson was manic as she was wheeled towards Bishop; she was bucking and writhing madly against her restraints, her shouts hoarse and painful through her gag. John shushed her and she fell silent for a moment. Her red and puffy eyes looked into Bishop’s; Bishop felt her heart in her throat as she caught a glimpse at the fear and despair that had ruled Hudson’s world since that helicopter crash.

“Hudson-" she started to say again when suddenly John was looming over her and placing his hands on either side of her face, making the words die on her lips as she stared up at him in alarm.

“I’m going to open you. And pour your worst fears inside…“

She couldn’t stop herself from seizing up as his hands slid to her neck and squeezed. Her eyes widened as she looked back into his, at the combination of excitement and malice in his gaze, and felt truly afraid. He stared once more at her bared chest as he finished speaking; she tried desperately to steel her face as he looked back into her eyes but she could tell by his smile that he was feeding off of her discomfort.

Just as she thought she might start to suffocate from the weight of his presence, he stepped back and gave her room to breathe. The relief was short-lived as his hands fell back to Hudson’s chair.

“Be right back,” he promised cheerfully as he pushed her from the room.

“HUDSON!!!” she yelled as her partner’s muffled screams became a distant echo. “HUDSON, NO!!!”

The door slammed shut, leaving her alone with only the sound of her own screams and wild thrashing. She quieted when it was apparent they weren’t coming back, breathing heavily as she tried to rein in her storm of emotions. Her eyes fell to her feet, tied tightly together at the ankles, and inhaled sharply before leaning back as far as the chair would let her. When she felt her heart rate start to even out, she sat forward and focused.

Only then did it occur to her to try and do something with the time alone she’d been given.

 _Escape,_ a voice in her head urged. _Get the fuck out of here!_

She fought the restraints on her wrists again, trying to rip free. Not in this lifetime; the rope was too strong and the chair arms refused to budge. She tested the give of the chair’s wheels and felt her heart beat faster when it assented to inch forward ever so slightly.

It was difficult to do with her feet tied down, but by throwing her full weight forward, the chair deigned to scoot forward little by little. She worked tirelessly, not even giving herself time to catch her breath. The work quickly began to degrade, however, as each lunge forward seemed to lose just as much ground as it gained.

She should have taken the time to stop and recover. Her mind, however, hadn’t fully bounced back from the combination of those damned Bliss bullets and being punched out. Instead of erring on the side of logic, she forced herself to exert all the effort she had into a few more solid pushes.

The first made the chair wobble unsteadily but raised no alarms. The second…well, it was too late to do much of anything when everything went wrong. She felt the wheels lift from the ground and her whole body went rigid in response. Too slow to rock back and even out the weight distribution, horror spawned in her chest as the chair gradually tipped to one side. She balanced precariously on one wheel for a single agonizing second before crashing straight to the floor.

Her shoulder took the brunt of the impact, smacking hard into the concrete. Her head soon followed suit, making her vision dance. She lay there, dazed, for a few moments before she blinked her sight back into focus. Slowly, she realized just what she had done and felt her throat seize up.

As the pounding lessened in her head, she allowed anger and despair build in her chest. When she’d had a moment to recover, she let out a scream of rage with all the breath she had left. She didn’t care who heard – John Seed or otherwise. She had failed, yet again. Failed Hudson. Failed the folks of Holland Valley. Failed herself…

The blows just kept on coming - especially as now horizontal, she could see a set of stairs across the room. She could have tried using the stairwell to break the chair and free herself; if only she had taken a goddamn moment to THINK. Her efforts to crawl or inch her way over were thwarted by the awkwardness of the chair and still being securely attached to it. She let her cheek slam unceremoniously back onto the cold concrete and screwed her eyes shut.

_YOU FUCKING IDIOT!_

She ground her teeth to stop another frustrated roar from ripping out of her throat.

 _Breathe in, breathe out. Alright, you fucked up. It’s done,_ she coached herself. _He’s coming back and you have no idea what you’re in for. Save your strength and save your spit – you don’t know when food and water will be available to you next._

She tried focusing on her breathing, diverting her attention to her surroundings again. There wasn’t a whole lot to see from this angle; she might have saved herself some trouble by thinking to do this before toppling over…her eyes scanned the dirty floor, trying not to linger on the alarming blood trail that led towards the stairs, shifting instead to a glint of gold not too far away-

Her eyes widened in recognition and felt her blood run cold.

_No…please, no…._

The badge that had been tucked away inside her shirt now lay several feet away, taunting her with its pristine shine. Had it fallen out when she’d knocked herself over? Or had it been when she’d first been dragged down here?

Did it matter?

All she could focus on was that star and how the crushing pressure she had just started to relieve from her chest came back full force as she started hyperventilating.

 _Calm down, CALM DOWN!_ Her mind screamed as she thrashed futilely against her restraints, digging them painfully into her flesh.

She stopped fighting when it became evident there was no hope at breaking free. Letting her cheek press back against the cold floor, she stared mournfully at the badge and let despair roll over her in waves. Get it over with now.

 _Come on, you’re better than this_ , a voice snarled from deep inside. _You’ve been through worse. Man up._

She forced her eyes shut and drew into herself. Every emotion that was causing her distress – all the fear, the despair, the sorrow – she bundled together, imagining them as physical objects. Then, she forced them into the black, yawning space in her heart that seemed to serve no other purpose. Shoved them into that deep, dark abyss and let the feelings drain from her chest, settling her thundering pulse as a familiar emptiness took hold. She welcomed it, feeling her stress levels acclimate to a manageable level again.

 _Breathe_.

When she opened her eyes again and looked to the badge, the pain in her chest was no longer impossible to handle. There was still a dull ache from deep inside; however, she refused to allow it to grow again and forced her gaze elsewhere.

Foolishly, she let her eyes drift up towards the workbench and took in the sight of the two strips of skin stapled to its backboard. She felt her mouth sour in disgust but forced herself to stare. “Greed” adorned the one she had watched John attach to the wood; the one beside it was largely obscured by dried blood, the letter “L” alone standing out through the mess. What became of those poor souls? Forced to confess and then branded and carved up like a turkey, their flesh being flaunted before other non-believers such as herself…

She could only hope that their spirits hadn’t been broken. It seemed to be the fate of those who resisted John Seed and Eden’s Gate. Poor Hudson…she alone seemed capable of fighting back. Had she been forcibly marked yet? It hadn’t appeared so from the brief glimpse she caught of her.

It made Bishop’s heart hurt when she thought of all her partner had been forced to endure. While she was out running around topside, aggravating the Peggies and helping the Resistance get sturdy footing in each region, Hudson was down here facing abuse and torture.

She had heard the broadcasts. She knew that Hudson had been made to suffer.

* * *

 

_It had been just Bishop and Boomer raiding a Peggie checkpoint, pawing through their stash of ammo when John’s voice had come over the radio propped up nearby. She’d paid no mind to whatever garbage was coming out his mouth, focused on the supplies she was sweeping into her sack to take back to Fall’s End. When she’d heard Hudson’s voice come over the frequency, however, she’d frozen._

_Mission forgotten, she’d listened as her partner cursed John Seed and the Peggies, refusing to give in. Up until the pain started. She had no idea what was done to Hudson but her pained shrieks had made her blood run cold. Screaming over and over until it morphed into crying and begging, pleas to stop the torment._

_Bishop had lost concept of time and space for a few moments; only Boomer’s barking had dragged her away from Hudson finally saying “Yes” to John and his triumphant spiel thereafter. She had looked to Boomer, nosing her hand in concern, and only then realized she had sent her nails into her own flesh and drawn blood. As he licked her wounds clean, she used her other hand to chuck the radio off into the woods; even after it had fallen silent, she still felt insurmountable rage roaring through her veins..._

* * *

 

 _I won’t let them hurt you again, Hudson,_ she swore as she stared angrily at the flap of skin bearing “Greed”. _I’ll do everything I can to protect you._

The scraping of the door opening behind her made her jolt back to her senses, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

“My word, what have you done to yourself?” John’s voice floated down to her.

She tensed, feeling her heartrate skyrocket with his presence. The door banged shut again and she listened to his approaching footsteps with bated breath. His hands were suddenly on her arms and there was nowhere left for her to recoil to. The world spun viciously as he easily righted her chair, leaving her dizzy for a few moments. When she was able to focus again, he was all she could see, standing there smiling like they were two old friends. She felt rage building up inside so fast it made her physically sick.

Her glare was scorching as she looked up into his face and silently challenged him. And all he did was keep smiling at her, knowingly. They remained in a wordless standoff for a few heartbeats, the air thick with tension.

“Where’s Deputy Hudson?” she demanded finally. “What have you done with her?”

That seemed to amuse him. He let out a small huff of laughter as he finally turned away from her and walked towards the table supporting his toolbox.

“Don’t you worry about her,” he told her. “She’s patiently awaiting her next chance at confession. But before then, you and I have a scheduled session. I must say, it warms my heart to have you volunteer for this…”

He trailed off and slowly turned to look back at her, his gaze a squint as he smiled peculiarly.

“It just occurred to me,” he laughed. “I don’t even know your name.”

He put on a show of appearing bashful, spreading his arms out and giving a sheepish glance her way.

“I must confess, I was a bit too preoccupied at our first meeting to even think to look at your name tag,” he said. “And now here you are with nothing for me to identify you by.”

She bit back a million different things she’d like to spit at him and instead glowered at him in silence. When it became obvious he wasn’t going to budge without an answer, she ground her teeth and tried thinking calming thoughts.

"'Deputy’ is fine,” she insisted after a moment.

He shook his head at her, still smiling.

“That just won’t do,” he chided. “Confession is an intimate affair. We’re going to have to be open with one another.”

He strode back over to her and loomed overhead.

“You’re going to confess to every sin you’ve ever committed. It’s going to be a long, arduous process. It will bring us closer together as we prepare you for atonement…”

He leaned in close, forcing her to recoil as far as the chair would allow her.

“Or, I go back and start over with Deputy Hudson. See if she’s changed her tune.”

That threat didn’t get taken lightly. Her eyes widened just as quickly as they narrowed into a hateful glare. Judging by the slight narrowing of his eyes and how his smile easily transitioned into a smirk, he noticed.

“…Anna Bishop,” she supplied begrudgingly.

“Anna,” John rolled the name of his tongue, backing off slightly, smiling at her as he did.

“Bishop,” she insisted fiercely. “ _No one_ calls me Anna.”

“Anna is a blessed name,” John continued, unaffected. “It means ‘beautiful’. ‘Grace’.”

She snorted derisively.

“Yeah, whatever,” she sneered as she turned her head away from him.

“Anna,” John said again, just because he could; he circled her as he made his way to the cart to her left. “What would you say your sin is?”

That gave her pause. She let her gaze slip from him as she pondered his question.

She was guilty of plenty, but what sin was the most damning? What corrupted her soul most?

Huh. From that perspective, it really wasn’t that difficult to see.

“Wrath,” she finally said, tiredly.

John smiled and wagged a finger approvingly at her.

“Owning up to your sin is the first step,” he said. “Yes, you are Wrath. It consumes you. It’s in your posture, in your voice, in your eyes – my goodness, is it in that _stare_. You exude Wrath, it burns bright from within. And it ignites everything and everyone around you.”

He leaned casually on the dolly beside her; the sight was absolutely infuriating.

“Where does this Wrath come from? What causes this sin?” he asked her.

As he stood there, clearly waiting for an answer, she could only bark out a laugh.

“Where does it come from?” she mocked. “How about being chased all over this goddamn county by a cult of rabid dogs, all foaming at the mouth while they shoot and burn and pillage their way through this corner of Montana?!”

John stood up to his full height, posture rigid. It was enough to shut her up, feeling the chill that settled in the room as he did. He stared at her a moment before stalking over to the cart and grabbing the tattoo gun. She watched with bated breath as he adjusted and calibrated it, feeling the skin on her chest itch and chill with sweat.

His silence was so unnatural that it made her far more anxious than any verbal threat he could have levied at her. She looked past him towards the soft glint of the badge in the darkness, now a number of feet away. Her heart clenched at the sight of it but she still tried to draw strength from it, as she would have when it was safely pressed to her breast.

“The second step,” he said finally, voice tight, “Is to accept your sin. For only then can you understand its power over you, all the harm it causes. Only then can you truly desire atonement….”

He looked back to her with hard eyes; she didn’t miss that he was staring just below her collarbone, at the blank expanse of flesh that would serve as his canvas.

“Until you truly _want_ change, any words you speak hereafter will have no meaning.”

The tattoo gun was slammed back down on the cart and she jolted, eyes screwing shut as he leaned in close, hands on both of her wrists. 

“Just say ‘Yes’.”

Her heart was hammering too fast to try and be defiant, to look him in the eye and tell him “No”. When she did manage to pull her gaze up to his face, the coldness of his eyes destroyed whatever resistance she had been trying to build back up.

“Yes,” she said weakly.

“ _Yes, I wish to atone_ ,” he prompted.

She trembled like a leaf. Her eyes sought out the badge on the floor and tried instilling courage back into her heart.

“Yes…I wish to atone…,” she repeated hollowly.

His grip on her hands relaxed.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked as he gently patted her arm as if to comfort her.

She couldn’t respond, couldn’t bring herself to tear her gaze away from the floor. All her thoughts lay on what was to come next, mentally and physically preparing herself for it. She had to be strong, she had to be brave-  

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John’s head turn; a moment too late, she realized he was following her gaze. Horror turned her stomach over as she watched him straighten up and march across the room to the golden star lying innocently on the floor. He made a show of standing in front of it, gazing down at it from his full height before slowly turning and gauging her reaction.

She couldn’t keep the terror out of her face as he smiled at her and bent down. Having to watch as he took hold of her most prized possession was almost enough to undo her. Her chest was heaving from the effort of containing the storm of emotions raging within as he returned to her side.

“Jackson County,” he read aloud, raising a brow. “I believe that’s out of your jurisdiction, Deputy.”

She would not rise to his bait, no matter the cost. She wouldn’t. The desire to fling every expletive known to man at him - to threaten him with a thousand painful deaths – was alluring. But giving him the satisfaction of watching her come apart at the seams was not an option. She was stronger than that. Let him see.

“It means something to you,” he said knowingly. “Your attention keeps wandering to it. Why don’t you tell me?”

She’d sooner chew her own arm off. A growing temptation with every moment she was trapped in here with him, completely at his mercy…

Her jaw set as she painted a look of indifference on her face. She looked pointedly into his eyes, to meet his stare head on. He looked at her with calculating eyes, his lips curling into a smirk that set her even more on edge.

“Well, if it means so little, then I’ll just get rid of it,” he taunted as he walked away.

The mask slipped from her face as fear took control.

“Wait!” she insisted, jerking her hands and remembering quickly she was fully restrained. “WAIT!”

He didn’t acknowledge her, heading for the stairwell and he unknown that lay beyond it.

“DON’T!!!” she yelled, all but frothing at the mouth.

She threw herself against her restraints, ignoring the blistering pain as the rope ate into her skin. Her thrashing was threatening to topple the chair over once more but it didn’t deter her in the least. _He had to stop, he had to-_

“PLEASE!”

She had promised herself never to beg, _never again_ , but her resolve crumbled to dust in the face of losing that badge.

“Please don’t!” she pleaded again, her head bowing to her chest as tears sprang into her eyes. “That’s all I have left of him!”

She refused to sob, trying to keep what was left of her dignity intact. Still, her shoulders shook as she heaved in deep, ragged breaths.

“That’s all I have left…,” she said, her voice cracking pitifully. “Please…”

There was a horrific stretch of silence where she was certain he’d deny her any mercy. Then he was slowly walking back towards her, badge held tightly, before coming up short several feet.

“Who was he?” he demanded coldly.

She took a moment to rein in her gasping breaths, her heart still jackrabbiting in her chest.

“My father…,” she finally answered, voice barely above a whisper.

John stepped closer.

“Tell me.”

There was no bargaining to be had.

“He…he was the sheriff of Jackson County…Couple hours east of here…,” she offered up hesitantly.

“Was?”

That simple question was another knife into her already bleeding heart.

“He’s dead.”

“Your mother?”

“She’s dead too.”

John was practically hovering over her now; the badge in between his fingers so close. If only she could free a wrist, she could reach out and touch it…

“Anna.”

She blinked, eyes following his hand as he raised it to chest height. He was using the badge as a lure, dragging her gaze directly back to his. She knew what he wanted and it hurt her to reopen that forever aching wound. But what choice did she have?

“I had great parents. Hardworking, honest, Christian folk,” she started off slowly.

“My dad was a good man. Hardworking, reliable, kind. Sheriff, as said before. He was beloved by everyone. There was nothing malicious about him. He only ever fired his weapon five times on duty…only ever killed one man…And it haunted him to the end of his days….”

She smiled bitterly to herself at the irony of it.

“He and I are very different in that regard,” she stated simply.

Her eyes looked into John’s to gauge his reaction. His face was utterly dispassionate, eyes focused on her but hard as stone; she couldn’t have surmised anything from him even if she had more time. She looked elsewhere, unnerved by his unwavering attention.

“He was Montana born and bred. My mom, though…she was from the East Coast. She was kind but she didn’t suffer fools lightly. She could be loud and pushy, the exact opposite of my quiet and mild mannered father. They balanced each other out, anyway.”

She didn’t want to share too much with John. Just enough to satisfy him. Her parents and all the memories she had of them…they were hers alone. He had no right to know any more than what she was willing to give him.

“They married, had me. We all lived together happily together in Jackson County for 11 years….”

“What changed?” he demanded as she trailed off.

“They died,” she answered briskly.

“ _Anna_ ,” he said again, a warning.

She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled sharply. Dredging up these memories…was like twisting the knife in the wound. But she remembered her promise to Hudson…and looking up at John she could see he was listening with rapt attention. She swallowed the pain down as best she could.

“We were supposed to go camping by Boulder River,” she said weakly, “Fishing with dad, kayaking with mom….Hiking together, just the three of us and open skies. They were taking off work and letting me miss school for a few days...”

She smiled bitterly to herself, lost in the memory of it.

“It was all I could talk about for weeks,” she said. “All I could think about. Was counting down the days leading up to it...”

She felt her throat seize up, dry as a bone. There was no spit to wet her mouth and she struggled to keep speaking.

“Got to skip school that Friday,” she all but whispered. “We were gonna travel all that afternoon and officially start our vacation the day after. Just had to take care of some last minute shopping….batteries, or something…”

She scoffed at it in hindsight. _Batteries…_

“We were…,” she started before her throat seized up, silencing her.

Her chest was suddenly unbearably tight; it made breathing painful, talking almost impossible. She made the mistake of averting her gaze and locked eyes with John again. He had been quiet since the start of her story, standing there with his arms crossed. His gaze was piercing and she felt pinned down beneath it. She forced herself to look away; still, she could feel the weight of his stare, stones adding to the insurmountable weight on her chest.

“We were…coming out of the store and headed for the car,” she tried again, swallowing thickly, “When the brother of the only man my father had been forced to kill rolled up…”

Most of her nightmares revolved around that day; she had seen it unfold countless times. More times than she could bear.

“Don’t know how many shots he fired. Pedestrians said it was a solid 20 seconds of gunfire…it felt like an eternity…”

She had mapped out the eyewitness accounts so vividly over the years she envision the scene playing out from every angle.

“Dad threw himself on me when it first started. He managed to get his gun out and fire four shots…it was enough to send the man running back from whatever hole he crawled out of...Mom…she died before she hit the ground. Dad lasted a little while longer…”

The trembling had started before she even noticed, softly rattling her chair. She stopped to blink rapidly, trying to force the burning sensation from her eyes. A lump had formed in her throat that she angrily spoke around.

“I got to sit and hold my father as he died,” she said hoarsely. “Waiting for the paramedics, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding…but there was so much blood, and it was coming from everywhere…I got to watch the life leave his eyes as he coughed and choked and apologized…tried assuring me everything was going to be okay, even when he knew…”

Her vision was blurry, blinded by the tears that would not be kept at bay.

“Police responded first. Deputy Shaw, dad’s best friend and second in command, arrived and had to pull me away while they hauled Mom and Dad away. He rode with me to the hospital…I barely even remember them checking me over. Everything’s a blur. And then suddenly I’m in the morgue, being confronted with my parents laid out on slabs. Never to say my name again, never to-“

She stopped herself before she sobbed, letting her lip tremble instead, cursing her weakness all the while. Tears burned hot tracks down her cheeks and she gnashed her teeth together.

“We were supposed to go fishing,” she laughed humorlessly, the sound horrifically choked.

The pained laughter died away easily, consumed by insurmountable rage resurfacing unchecked.

“They didn’t deserve that,” she snarled. “They did nothing wrong and yet they died in pain and in fear and left me here alone in this awful world.”

She had nothing more to say. Her emotions were spent and she found herself torn between grief and rage as she always did remembering that day. Whipping her head up to stare at John defiantly, she held his gaze with a challenge.

“You wanted to know where my Wrath comes from?” she demanded. “It was that day 13 years ago.”

There was something in John’s gaze – something that hadn’t been there before. She was much too irate to contemplate the look he was giving her, to understand the look in his eyes. Just as soon as it appeared, it disappeared behind his mask of serenity, swept back up and out of reach. He fiddled with the badge between his fingers and he had Bishop’s full attention again, gaze automatically drawn to it.

“It is not always easy, understanding God’s plan,” he said finally. “But all will be revealed in time. All pains have a purpose.”  

She felt the sting of those words and rage soon overtook her sorrow. Her head reared back as she let out a hollow laugh, bitter and biting. When she looked back to John, she had a sneer on her face, tears drying on her cheeks.

“God,” she spat out viciously. “There is no such thing. And if there is, He means nothing to me.”

She watched darkness fall across John’s face and it took all of her strength not to scream at him.

“Oh, please - spare me,” she spat instead. “I went to church every Sunday with my parents, we prayed before every meal. I wasn’t the most well behaved kid but I owned up to my sins and prayed for forgiveness, strength, and guidance every single night.”

John’s words replayed in her head and she ground her teeth together angrily.

“And I prayed every day afterwards for answers. What had I done - what had they done - to deserve that? And do you think I ever got an answer? From anyone?”

She turned back to John and pinned him in a malicious stare.

“Tell me what kind of god does that,” she demanded. “ _Tell me_.”

The fact that now of all moments John Seed decided to maintain his silence only solidified what she already held true in her mind. Still, it incited her further.

“The day of their funeral was when I stopped talking to God,” she spat out. “The day my prayers stopped. The day I truly stopped believing.”

Leaning back in her chair, she turned her gaze away from him to stare sullenly at nothing in particular.

“Don’t talk to me about God,” she said with finality.

She’d said her piece and she was…surprisingly hollow. All the rage and sadness still remained, but it had been muted; there was a yawning emptiness that wasn’t filled with much of anything that was wholly discomforting. It wasn’t quite catharsis…but it did feel like something had been cut loose inside her.

The silence that had fallen between them was suffocating.

“Apostasy,” John said after a moment, “Is a grave sin indeed. It explains _so much_ as to what drives your violent impulses.”

She could only whip her head around to stare at him in absolute bewilderment. After everything – _everything_ – she had just told him, her rejection of God was what troubled him most? Bishop couldn’t feel anger towards him quite yet; she was still too baffled by his line of thinking to process any other emotions.

Before she could even summon words to counter him, John was overhead and the world was suddenly spinning. She flailed in alarm as she felt the chair reclined, panic racing through her veins as she was forced backwards towards the floor. It wasn’t a painful fall to the concrete like before but she was back on the ground all the same.

John was standing over her, a leg on either side. She didn’t know what to make of him until he turned and she saw the tattoo gun in his hand. Its motor revved to life once more and it was all the motivation she needed to buck wildly against the ropes binding her. John was bearing down on her in a moment, left arm under her neck to keep her head down.

“Hold still,” he told her. “There’s no need for this to be messy, but if you move around too much, I can’t guarantee anything.”

The second the needle pierced her skin she tried to recoil again but had nowhere to go. She slammed her eyes shut and ground her teeth, refusing to make a sound. Her anger mounted and for a moment she was seized by the desire to try sinking her teeth into his arm. That wouldn’t help anyone – least of all Hudson.

The thought of her partner and the pitiful state she had last seen her in was all that she needed to suffer through this. She had to be brave for Hudson – she had to be strong. If stringing this asshole along with her sob story meant time he spent away from Hudson, she’d be willing to pay that price. 

It didn’t hurt as badly as Bishop had built it up to be in her head. But the indignity of it alone caused its own sense of agony. Her poor mother would be rolling in her grave if she knew what was happening now.

 _Tattoos are only on thugs and sailors!_ Bishop could hear her mother’s shrill voice scolding in the back of her mind.

It was a silly, old-fashioned notion; she knew that, always had. But she had still kept it to heart over the years. She’d didn’t have a single spot of ink anywhere on her skin. Until now…

It felt like an eternity before he finished, the gun whirring silent as he drew back and inspected his work. She let her chest rise and fall rapidly as she drew in ragged breaths. It stung like hell…but she was free to breathe again and she relished in it. John rose to his feet, seemingly satisfied; he took his equipment and placed it back on the cart nearby.

Morbid curiosity forced her gaze down to her chest and she started in surprise. There was only a single letter branded to her skin, a neat “A” directly centered over her sternum.

_Motherfucker._

“The first steps are always the hardest, the most painful,” John told her as he stood above her, “But the most fulfilling. The most important ones in your journey towards absolution.”

“Fuck you,” she spat venomously, turning her scorching gaze back to him.

John squatted down beside her, running his fingers over the still bleeding letter on her chest. Bishop clenched her teeth to stop herself from hissing out in pain; she turned her head to avoid looking at his self-satisfied face. He reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her gaze back to him. She did her best to level him with a glare, too incensed for words. His other hand played with her braid, draping it over her shoulder.

“We’ve only just begun, Deputy,” he told her patiently. “Are you ready to continue?”

* * *

 

 

“Oh  
You're gonna lose your soul, tonight  
You're gonna lose your soul  
You're gonna lose your soul tonight, tonight

Oh  
You're gonna lose control, tonight  
You're gonna lose control  
You're gonna lose control tonight, tonight, tonight

I get up in the morning  
To the beat of the drum  
I get up to this feeling  
Keeps me on the run  
I get up in the morning  
Put my dreams away  
I get up, I get up, I get up again”

_Lose Your Soul, Dead Man's Bones_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important fact: Jackson County, much like Hope County, is fictional and therefore does not exist in real-life Montana. I made it up for the sake of convenience in the story.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Many thanks to those who left comments and kudos on the previous chapter! As always, comments and reviews are appreciated! <3


	3. Chapter 3

This is how I die _, Bishop thought again as she screwed the silencer onto her pistol._

_Somewhere nearby, Nick Rye’s plane sat parked and waiting. Nick had begged and pleaded for her to help him rescue it – quite a lot coming from a guy she had only met just minutes before. The moment he said it was at the airstrip at John Seed’s ranch, she was ready to dip out. No fucking way – she was not going to John Seed’s home on a wing and a prayer, risking her own life and freedom for a goddamn plane._

_Then he dragged in his pregnant wife and his desire to use the plane to fly them away from the danger overtaking Hope County._

_That was all it had taken to convince Bishop to leave Boomer with Nick and head towards Seed Ranch all alone. It was a suicide mission – she was crushingly aware of that fact even as she pulled herself up the hill and into the cover of the trees and started her silent approach. Aside from the supposed bunker that John oversaw, Seed Ranch was probably the most impregnable place in all of Holland Valley._

_The house itself was crawling with Peggies but there was surprisingly light surveillance from the south where she’d slunk in. There was a lone Peggie by the outskirts of the gravel walkway as she drew closer; she’d ambushed him before he could shout, a solid kick to his gut and right hook to his jaw laying him flat out. She shook her fist and willed the pain in it away as she crept on, taking the chance to sprint quietly towards the hanger when the sniper on guard was patrolling in the opposite direction._

_She opened the side door from a crouch, pistol at the ready as she checked the corners and tiptoed in. There was Carmina, her sunny yellow paint a welcome sight. Well, for a moment. At least until Bishop remembered an oh-so-important detail: she didn’t know how to fly._

_Voicing that to Nick had just gotten her brushed off – ‘oh flying ain’t hard! I can talk you through it on the radio! You just need to get airborne and I can help you through the rest!’_

_Bishop already felt her palms sweating with nerves as she took a steadying breath. Holstering her pistol, she edged towards the control panel on the wall and hesitantly pressed the large button in the center. The metal garage door rose noisily, clanging and clattering as she tensed and hunkered down, waiting to see who came running. After a few moments of silence, she steeled herself and trotted for the plane._

_“No keys needed – just grab her and go_!” _Nick had said so she opened the door and slid into the cockpit without delay._

_She eyed the controls and felt her blood pressure spike._ _Jesus, there were_ so many _gauges and switches and lights…how the fuck was she gonna know what did what?!_

_Carmina sputtered to life easily enough when she’d messed with the largest levers and buttons. Bishop flexed her sweaty hands in her gloves, willing them to remain steady as she reached for the stick between her legs with one and the large lever to the left with the other._

“ _I can do this, I can do this_ ,” _she repeated as a mantra, willing it to become true._

_Carmina eased frontward as she pushed forward on what could only be the throttle, bouncing lightly while exiting the hangar. Bishop puffed her cheeks out trying to remain calm, eyes darting from side to side to see if the coast remained clear._

_A Peggie wandered into her periphery to the left. Her head swiveled quickly to take in the sight of him; he was just standing there with a stunned expression on his face, rifle seemingly forgotten in his hands. She didn’t get to savor the reaction as Carmina quickly taxied past him. His shout a moment later let Bishop know that he managed to snap out of his stupor soon enough._

_Her hands trembled as she increased the throttle, putting distance between her and the sounds of him trying to chase her down. There was noise erupting all over now, the cult radio’s ghastly tunes being replaced by a siren’s wail that echoed through the hills. Bishop felt her heart hammering in her chest as she watched the runway become smaller and smaller before her. She pulled the stick back and felt the wheels jump off the ground and bounce back as she frantically pushed it back into place._

“ _I can’t do this_ …,” _she said aloud, feeling terror creep up her spine._

_Gunfire rattled off Carmina’s wings and Bishop shrunk down in the cockpit._

Fuck it.

_She jerked back on the stick and felt her stomach launch upwards as the plane lifted from the ground. There were noises coming out of her mouth that weren’t screams - but they sure as shit were sounds of distress. Carmina was wobbling to and fro as her shaking hands rattled the stick, trying her damnedest to keep the plane in the air and strafe the bullets still dinging off the rudders from behind._

_“OOOORAH, DEPUTY!” Nick’s voice cheered from the radio at her hip. “I just heard on the Peggie radio that some intruder made off with my plane!”_

_Bishop snatched the walkie up and slammed her thumb down on its button._

_“Nick, I have no idea what I’m doing - you gotta talk me through this_ right now _,” she rushed out, “Cause I’m freaking the fuck out here!”_

_“Alright, calm down, calm down!” Nick said quickly, “It’s gonna be fine. Just head north for now!”_

_Bishop looked to the compass in the console and tried adjusting her course. Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer even as the commotion from the ranch filtered away as she put as much distance between it as she could. Nick was trying to coach her through testing the controls but he was being far too relaxed and it kept her on edge. For god’s sake, she was piloting his one-way ticket out of Hope County with no prior experience and he was acting like everything was under his control._

_Maybe it wasn’t what she wanted in her first few minutes of panicked maneuvers but it was starting to help; little by little, his calm optimism began to transfer over to her as she guided the plane west and over the river. It helped that she was no longer under fire and she hadn’t crashed and burned just after takeoff, sure, but his idle chatter was a major factor in setting her at ease and she refused to downplay that._

_“Damn, Deputy!” Nick chirped suddenly as she eased Carmina south. “You’d never know you’re a first time flyer! You got the makings of an ace pilot! What say I give you some lessons some time? Free of charge, course. Figure I owe you after this.”_

Don’t thank me until I land _, she wanted to say; instead, she decided to be tactful._

_“Aren’t you packing up once you get your plane back?”_

_“Oh. Well, yeah…shit, I forgot about that…,” Nick grumbled over the line. “Hmm. Sorry, Dep. Shame to see talent like yours stay unpolished. We could have made a hell of a team!”_

_Bishop smiled to herself at the thought. Fear had bled from her heart the longer she coasted over the tree line; if she was being honest with herself, she felt something akin to peace as she looked at the orange colored sky, the sinking sun glittering off the water below like crystals._

_“It’s so beautiful,” she said dreamily._

_“It is, ain’t it?” Nick replied. “Ain’t nothing like being in the air, ‘specially at this time of day.”_

_She found herself agreeing with him, gently easing the stick to keep Carmina following the soft curves of the river. Nick made a noise she couldn’t decipher on the other end before he erupted into peals of laughter. He obviously couldn’t see her confused expression so she spoke into the radio._

_“Nick?”_

_“Oh, Deputy!” he laughed, trying to catch his breath. “The Peggie radio is going absolutely bonkers! John-fucking-Seed was at his ranch just now! You stole Carmina back right from under his goddamn nose!”_

_She blinked in surprise. John Seed had been home while she was skulking around his property? He had been within reach the whole time she was busting Carmina out of lock up?  
She wasn’t sure to feel grateful to have skirted by him or upset that she hadn’t been able to sneak in and try and put him in the ground. In all likelihood, sneaking into his mansion was never going to be feasible – not with the amount of security she saw lurking from the roof and balconies alone._

_“Oh man – I would have paid good money to have seen the look on his face!” Nick chortled._

_Bishop found herself sharing in his amusement, a smile stretching onto her face._

_“You and me both, man.”_

_“Hey, Deputy…,” Nick said after a moment, his tone mischievous, “Feel like causing a little trouble before bringing Carmina home?”  
She did laugh then, a soft exhalation of breath._

_“Nick, I’m always ready to cause some trouble.”_

* * *

 

Bishop smiled sadly to herself as she surfaced from the memory, trying to ignore the screams and clanging coming somewhere from beyond her room.

God, there wasn’t much else to do. John had – thankfully – left her be for some time now. She’d had quite enough of him for a lifetime, let alone the next few “sessions” he had been reminding her of before he departed. After all, she still had four more letters to add to her chest…

John hadn’t made her “confess” to anything else in the hours after she’d told him about her parents; instead, he did most of the talking. Her status as an apostate seemed to trouble him and she’d been subjected to his lectures on faith and God.

It made her ready to confess to anything else he wanted to hear, just to get him to shut up.

She’d made the mistake of being too blasphemous in a response to him and he’d punished her by re-inking the “A” on her chest. It had been much more than just a sting the second time around and she’d had to clench her teeth to stop from giving him an audible response. He probably got off on the screams and pleas his other victims gave to him – he’d get no such pleasure from her.

With a wink and promise to return, he’d left not long after. He’d left her supine and she glowered knowing he most likely knew she’d fallen before trying to attempt an escape; it was smart of him to not take any chances but she hated him more for it.

She’d been alone for…she didn’t even have an idea how long now. Long enough for her chest to stop bleeding again, for the pain to ebb away to a dull ache instead of a throbbing agony.

You could only count the prongs on the bizarre antler ceiling fixture so many times before your mind was ready to implode. She’d moved to filing through recent memories of her friends and allies, mostly in Fall’s End or the surrounding area. That day with Nick had been a great one. She’d helped him get his plane back, driven off two separate waves of Peggies, and helped secure his property. And in the end, Kim had managed to convince him to dig in and fight.

She did wind up getting some flight lessons in after all.

Flying was still terrifying but there was a certain freedom and exhilaration to being in the air that spoke to her. What she wouldn’t give to be soaring through the sky in Carmina again, Nick coaching her from the back seat and Kim on the radio keeping an eye on Peggie activity for them.

_What I wouldn’t give to just see Nick and Kim again…,_ she thought miserably to herself.

She didn’t hold a whole lot of hope of escaping this place. Her attempts to break the chair arms or wiggle her legs free had only resulted in her hurting herself, skin chafed and raw. The only chance to see them both again seemed to be if they finally got captured too and dragged down into this nightmare.

She couldn’t bear the thought of that and refused to entertain it.

So she focused on her memories of them instead, of flying Carmina and dinners spent in their home. That last evening with them before she got captured had been so happy and full of warmth and cheer…she wished she could have lived in that moment forever. The Ryes made her remember what a home was supposed to be like, how it used to be for her way back in the day. It made her heart ache with nostalgic grief…but it also fostered hope. Hope that days spent around a happy table, surrounded by good friends and good food could become the new normal for her.

_You actually thought something good was within reach?_ Her mind supplied viciously. _Big mistake_.

She knew that now…but was it so wrong to still hope for the best, even after everything she’d been through?

The door opened behind her with a shrill whine.

Bishop prepared herself, ignoring the twinge of pain that erupted from her chest. Someone was stomping into the room, their gait uneven and sloppy. Her brow furrowed.

_John doesn’t sound like that…_

A shadow loomed over her and she looked up into a dirty face with shaggy hair and beard. It wasn’t John. Just some burly Peggie.

He grabbed the arms of her chair and easily righted her, a wave of nausea ripping through her from the motion. She shut her eyes for a moment, waiting for the feeling to pass as the man stomped around her, checking the restraints on her wrists and legs.  

When she opened her eyes to observe him, she immediately took in his body language. His shoulders were tight, his movements rigid, his eyes never looked to her face…everything about him displayed tension. She stared at him a moment longer, observing how his hands constantly clenched into fists, before she spoke up.

“I know you.”

She wasn’t sure if she actually did or not – not until he deigned to turn and pin her in a scorching glare.

“How’s your friend?” she taunted. “The big one from your capture party?”

He didn’t answer but his silence and the naked hate in his eyes was enough. She pulled her lips back into a shit eating grin.

“Didn’t make it, huh?” she pressed.

His fist connected with her face before she could goad him further. Her neck rolled with the punch, whipping her braid off her shoulder. There were stars in her eyes for a moment before the ringing in her ears receded.

The pain throbbing from her jaw was agonizing but she let out a hearty laugh that steadily grew. When she snapped her head back up, she was already smiling at him again, all bloody teeth - daring him to continue.

“ _Enough_.”

John’s voice sliced through the tension between them and pulled the man’s gaze from her. She watched in disappointment as the fire seemed to instantly die in his eyes, cowed by his boss’s presence. He didn’t look at her again as he shuffled from the room, head downcast. She lost her smile as she listened to him retreat and realized she was once again alone with John.

“You’re not making any friends that way, Anna,” he chided as he swung the heavy door shut with a clang.

“Good,” she snorted, fighting off nausea again as the taste of iron steadily filled her mouth.

His hand appeared on her shoulder and squeezed down on the bruised muscle. She grit her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the impulse to cry out.

“The Father forgives your transgressions,” he preached as he passed, releasing his grip on her and letting his fingers drag down the length of her arm. “But you must work to better yourself. Only you have the power to take control of your sin, not let it have control over you.”

When he turned back to face her, she held a sour look of contempt on her face. She turned her head and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, feeling some dribble down her chin. When she turned her gaze back to John, she pinned him with a heated glare.

_Fuck you. Fuck your Father._

John stared at her for a moment before approaching; she instantly was on edge, sitting up straighter in the chair. He reached for her face and she instinctively flinched, eyes slamming shut. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t going to strike her; still, she reared back as far as she could go to avoid his touch. His hands followed easily, cupping her cheeks and holding her still. She wanted nothing more to shrink away from him but boldly held his gaze. His thumb prodded the bruise forming on her jaw and she winced, eyes narrowing at him angrily.

“You have such exquisite eyes,” he told her suddenly.

She raised her brows at him: _really?_ Not like she hadn’t heard that before. Her mismatched irises were often the first thing people noticed about her. And often the source of sad attempts to pick her up at a bar or club.

“So I’ve heard,” she told him sourly.

_The best of both of us,_ she could hear her mother jokingly saying.

One green from dad, one blue from mom. It was a family joke that they’d teased her with for as long as she could remember. She’d always been so proud of her eyes – still was, to a degree. But there were more times than not she looked at her reflection and resented seeing part of her mother and father both looking back at her. She’d rather have them both alive and tangible before her than looking at a cheap imitation of them.

“Always so full of Wrath…,” he noted after a moment.

His hands tilted her head back and she uneasily allowed it to happen. The pad of his thumb wiped at her chin, chasing the trail of blood away from her lips. She didn’t like the intimacy of such a gesture –it left her feeling peculiar.

“You’re one to talk,” she retorted, trying to angle her mouth away from him. “Ever look in a mirror? You’re not far from my level.”

That didn’t set him off like she thought it would. Instead, he just smiled at her; she was a bit unnerved at how genuine it seemed. He’d never looked at her like that before now…

“I am intimately aware of the sin that consumes you,” he told her, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb. “I know how strongly it can drive you, how hard it is to overcome. It’s why God has brought you to me – so I may guide you along the path to Atonement.”

There was a burning desire to make a scathing comment about the irony of someone as sinful as John trying to steer people towards redemption…but she found it cooled by his unwavering attention…and his hands still on her face.

“Stop touching me,” she said, though her tone was far weaker than she intended.  

“Why?”

“I don’t like it.”

To her surprise, he obliged, slowly dragging his fingers across her cheek as he withdrew. She forced down a blossoming sense of disappointment. When was the last time she had been touched intimately, not in anger…?

_Stop that_ , her mind snarled at her. _You know who he is, what he’s like! Don’t fall for his act!_

“Anna,” he started, almost gently.

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, cutting him off. “No one is allowed to call me that! That was-“

She stopped short, feeling a lump back in her throat. Her eyes sought out anything to focus on, to concentrate her rage and her anguish on. John Seed stepped back into her vision, not allowing her to withdraw into herself.

“That was what your parents called you,” he finished for her, gently.

She said nothing, feeling her eyes burning again with tears. Goddamnit, she _hated_ being this emotional. It was something she didn’t allow herself to be; and when it became too much to keep inside, she made sure she was isolated and alone before she let it out. In this godforsaken bunker, she’d cried more in front of John Seed than she had in the past few years alone. She hated him for making her this vulnerable, for seeing her at her weakest.

He mercifully turned away, leaving her to blink rapidly and keep the waterworks at bay. Her gaze followed him as made his way over to the workbench and felt white hot anger replace her sorrow when he picked up her father’s badge. She watched as he stared down at the gold star and ran his thumb across the shield, tracing the circles she had worn it down with over the course of 13 years.

After a moment, he turned his gaze from it back to her. She held his stare and let her irritation be known. He smiled knowingly but placed it back down with care.

“What happened after the deaths of your parents?” he asked. “Where did you go?”

She scoffed.

“Where most orphaned, abused, and neglected children end up,” she said.

His eyes hardened ever so slightly; she noticed.

“Foster care,” she said bitterly, her stomach souring as old memories she’d rather forget dredged up. “A veritable hell…Hell might have been a kinder place to have been sent to, actually…”

“There was no one else?” John asked suddenly. “No other family?”

“Not anymore,” she replied. “It’s been just me for the last 10 years or so.”

She leaned back in her chair, eyes cast to the ceiling.

“I had a great-uncle, my dad’s Uncle Ted …but he was in assisted living. There was nothing he could do for me. My dad’s brother, Phil, wanted to take me in. But…he had a record. He did time for drugs. And he was homeless at the time. They wouldn’t even consider him…”

A white hot fury built in her chest as she pictured the only other living family members she had.

“My mother’s family,” she spat out, “Had homes and the means to care for a child…they just didn’t want me. Didn’t care what happened to me.”

It irked her that it still bothered her as much today as it did 13 years ago. But try explaining to an 11 year old why your grandparents and aunt didn’t care about you, why they wouldn’t take you in; that resentment only festered with time.

“They never approved of my mother coming west and settling here, hated my dad and subsequently me…The Montana Hicks. Whatever, they’re as good as dead to me.”

She fully meant that. There had never been a desire to reach out to them at any point over the years; there was no need. Let that old wound try and heal instead of ripping it back open.

“There were people back home, though, that wanted to help. Deputy Shaw and our neighbors, the Kleins…they petitioned for foster home status so many times…filed countless reams of adoption paperwork…but _the Treasure State_ refused to expedite or assist in the process. Made it drag out so long I’d already aged out of the system when anything finally pushed through…got to see those letters with my own eyes when I was 18 and already back home,” she said bitterly.

She would have given _anything_ to have been able to stay in Jackson County; even with all the associated heartache and loss, it was still home. Instead, she was bustled off towards Billings, forced to leave everything from her old life behind.

“They plucked me outta Jackson County and threw me in a couple of temporary facilities for a while. Handful of months, I didn’t exactly keep count,” she said. “Just stuck you in a bed and told you to behave while they waited for paperwork to push through.”

She could still clearly picture her first room that social services stuck her in. It was in an old repurposed apartment building that served as temporary housing for orphans, abuse victims, or the occasional witness protection asset;  just a small, dingy bed by a small, dirty window too high off the ground for her to look out.

“There…,” she started and then stopped.

It was a silly, stupid thing. There was no need to divulge this piece of information with him – it didn’t have anything to do with sin or wrongdoing. But it felt necessary to the dialogue. If anything, maybe it would help him understand.

“There was this thing I always did from the time I was a small child,” she tried again, taking her time. “Whenever a thunderstorm rolled through, I’d hide in the space under my bed. Just lie there, curled up. I don’t know why or how that started, I just always remember doing it. But my dad, whenever he was home, would know to come find me there. He’d gather me in his arms and put me back in bed, and stay with me, just stroking my hair or my back. And it was all it took to make me feel alright. Even if the storm was still outside raging…”

She smiled sadly to herself, gaze to the floor but seeing nothing beyond the memories swirling in her head.

“I can’t even count the number of times I’d crawl under a bed and lay there, even years after he’d passed. It did it an awful lot in the first year after his death…Just waiting for Dad to show up and take me into his arms again. To wake up and learn it was all a bad dream, to go back home, back to the way things were…”

Her vision was blurred with tears and she tried desperately to speak around the tightening in her throat.

“Set myself up for disappointment every single time. And it just made me feel all that much more alone.”

There was silence once more but it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable as it had been in the past. Bishop wondered what was going through John’s head; she could feel his stare upon her but it lacked the weight and menace of previous encounters. He seemed to intake a breath, sounding prepared to speak when the door behind her squealed open noisily.

Bishop reined in herself, her body seizing up with tension at the intrusion. She hadn’t noticed just how much she’d let her guard down around John until someone else reentered the fray and brought her defenses back up. The realization unnerved her greatly.

“What is it?” John growled out forcefully, not bothering to hide his irritation at being interrupted.

“Forgive me, John,” some unknown female spoke behind her; Bishop refused to turn around and acknowledge her presence. “There’s an issue-“

“Can’t it wait?” John demanded unkindly.

“Forgive me,” the speaker repeated hastily. “I wouldn’t intrude if it weren’t important.”

John glared at the woman over Bishop’s head; Bishop, for her part, didn’t feel the least bit sorry for the Peggie. She felt John’s gaze transfer back to her and she steeled herself. Sniffing softly, she blinked the tears out of her eyes; when she threw her head back to look at John, she had reassembled her armor.

“You gonna keep her waiting?” she jibed.

John’s eyes were embers as he stared a moment longer before stalking towards her. She wasn’t all that surprised when he forced her chair to recline and she was left lying on the floor; she kept her chin tucked to her chest to avoid bumping her skull into the concrete. She didn’t watch him go and was surprised to hear him stomp through the door without closing it; she strained to hear if anything was exchanged between the two but there was nothing beyond their fading footsteps. Slumping back into the chair with a sigh, she stared back at the ceiling and let her mind go blank, burying the painful memories that had swirled to the front of her mind as best she could.

* * *

 

It was impossible to keep track of time down here anymore. Bishop didn’t know the last time she’d had food or water; her throat ached and her stomach had stopped its insistent growling and was replaced by sad whines only every so often. At least being dehydrated had taken away her need to pee…and since she hadn’t eaten in who knows how long, she didn’t have to worry about having to take shit anytime soon.

_Silver linings_ , she thought sarcastically.

Another scream ripped through the bunker, resonating into Bishop’s room eerily. With the door to her room left wide open, it had been particularly difficult to try and ignore the sounds of the other prisoners being held down here; she’d had no idea just what a buffer it had served in the time she’d been strapped to this chair until it was removed.

Whoever was trapped next door had been violently sobbing for the last ten minutes or so; not just crying - full on weeping, their voice now hoarse. Bishop had tried her best to block them out…but there was nothing else to focus on, save for the dark thoughts and memories floating around in her mind.

She turned her head left to look towards the wall her neighbor suffered behind. If she had to guess, they were male: young, no more than 30 based on the timbre of their voice. Someone she very well may have met at the Spread Eagle on a Thursday night had the Peggies not overtaken the county. Maybe that day still existed in the future? It was becoming more and more difficult to hold out hope of ever escaping this place, let alone feeling the sun shine on her face back in the sanctuary of Fall’s End.

Her neighbor had seemed to be running out of steam…before getting a second wind, his sobs returning in full force. Bishop screwed her eyes shut, trying not to let her empathy reduce her to a state similar to his. There were few things left in the world that gave her comfort these days…but maybe…

“ _I heard the train in the Tulsa nightttt_ -”

Her voice broke in the first words but she was able to rein it back in, ignoring how parched her throat was and how this would only be making it worse.

“- _Calling out my nameeee, looking for a fighttttt.”_

Good ol’ Emmylou. The poor person on the other side of the wall probably didn’t know the song, but it had always given Bishop comfort. She could still see her mother in the kitchen of her childhood home, making herself a cup of tea after dinner and listening to her old cassettes, swaying and singing to herself.

“ _She’s come a long, long way – got a longer way to go-oh-oh-oh_

_So tell me how a train from Tulsa has got a right to know?”_

The sobbing remained so she put more strength into her voice as she sprang into the second verse.

“ _Well she sings a song, so sad and high, and the Tulsa Queen don’t ever lie._

_And she don't care where she goes, don't care where she's been.”_

If there was one thing that had kept her going over the years, it was song. Her mother and father both loved music – there was always a radio playing or CDs and cassettes in rotation in their home. Some of her fondest memories were of the three of them belting out a song, their dog Charlie howling along with them in the end and reducing them all into hysterical laughter.

_“And the Tulsa Queen ain’t crying cause I won’t see you again…”_

As she paused to take a breath, she took note of the silence that had fallen. Not just in her room, but from her neighbor’s as well. She felt emboldened and threw her head back to let her voice soar.

_“And I want to ride like a Tulsa Queen, calling out to you, like she calls to me!_

_As far away from Tulsa as these ten wheels can be…“_

Silence still reigned from the next room. Maybe he’d just run out of steam; or maybe he had stopped to listen and was taking comfort from her voice. She certainly hoped so. It had been just her face-to-face with John for some time (excluding the two Peggies who both declined to speak to her) and even if this didn’t quite count as social interaction with another person, it certainly felt like it; it eased her troubled soul, in any case.

_“Lately I speak your name too loud, each time it comes up in-“_

There was a subtle but audible shift behind her and it was enough to slam her mouth shut instantly, the song dying abruptly. She looked over her shoulder to see John standing there watching, having leaned on the doorway no more than a few moments before. Embarrassment seized her instantly and she looked forward again to hide her face. That song wasn’t meant for his ears.

“You don’t have to stop on account of me,” he told her, his voice growing closer. “You have a lovely voice.”

She clamped her teeth together and refused to acknowledge him. He was in front of her a moment later, yanking her chair upright again. When she found the dizziness wasn’t too much to handle, she opened her eyes and found him still unreasonably close. How she despised that tactic; he put himself in an area where looking anywhere but at him became virtually impossible.

“I apologize for the interruption,” John was saying, hand on her shoulder. “Your… _friends_ out there are…well, they’ll be dealt with.”

Maybe it was meant to be worded as ominous or foreboding but Bishop couldn’t contain the spark of joy that lit in her chest. It must have shown in her eyes; John’s mouth downturned in a small frown.

“They struggle without their stalwart Deputy leading the charge,” he said unkindly. “It won’t be long until they fold…”

Bishop felt rage replace her triumph; she glared nastily up into John’s now smiling face.  

“Now,” he said far too casually, as if he hadn’t just insulted her and her allies. “Where were we?”

She could only stare for a few moments longer before her temper got the better of her.

“Fuck off,” she growled maliciously.

“Anna-“

“Fuck. Off.”

His eyes narrowed and she could see the coldness return to them. Abruptly he was standing at his full height, looming over her.

“Fine…If you’re not up for confession, perhaps Deputy Hudson is.”

Any satisfaction she’d felt previously evaporated in an instant; she could feel her face fall as she realized what she’d done. He pushed past her and headed for the door.

“WAIT!” she demanded, shouting it after him. “I’m ready to confess, I’m-”

He stopped in the doorway and she exhaled sharply, trying to calm herself.

“I’m sorry,” she forced out painfully. “I’m ready.”

She waited with bated breath for his decision, heart thumping wildly in her chest. Just as she began to think he wouldn’t return and despair was creeping its way into her veins, she heard his footsteps approaching. His eyes were scrutinizing as he circled her, looking very much like a wolf; not for the first time, she felt like an injured deer before him, just waiting for him to lunge for her throat.

“I’m not blind to what you’re doing,” John said finally. “You didn’t agree to confess the first time because it’s what you truly desired. You did it for Hudson. And now again…”

She clenched her jaw and stared back but was unable to try and deny the truth.

“What is she to you?” he asked seriously.

“She’s my partner,” she answered honestly.

“Your friend?”

She blinked at that question.

“I don’t really have friends,” she said after a moment. “It’s nothing personal, just…she and I are coworkers.”

John crossed his arms as he leaned back against the cart by her side.

“There seems to be an awful lot of kinship between you two for just ‘coworkers’.”

She didn’t appreciate his tone; he doubted her candor.

“How about it’s the right thing to do?” she snapped testily. “I heard your little broadcasts while I was topside – I have an idea of what you were doing to her down here!”

His eyes gleamed for a moment and she felt rage surge through her at the satisfaction she saw there.

“She’s already gone through enough,” she barked, her voice rising. “If I could spare her from _you_ , even for a little while, it’d be worth whatever you put me through.”

She watched as the hardness slipped from his face; it happened so quickly she couldn’t quite pinpoint what caused such a change in him. He looked thoughtful for a moment, leaving a heavy silence to fall between them.

“What say we make a deal?” John said finally.

Her brow furrowed in suspicion.

“What kind of deal?”  
“You will not fight me during confession,” he said. “You speak freely and without having to be provoked…”

He stepped closer and placed his hands on either of the chair’s arms.

“Do so and I wouldn’t have a reason to go spend time with Deputy Hudson.”

Bishop’s heart skipped. If he truly meant that-

Her eyes narrowed unkindly.

“How can I trust you?”

John crouched down in front of her, bringing their faces level. His hands reached for hers, lifting her fingers from their grip on the chair arms and placing them gently onto his palms. She could only stare – looking at just how small and dainty her hands were in his – before looking back into his eyes.

“I give you my word,” he told her softly.

His word…what was that worth? From what she’d heard from the people of Fall’s End, John was a master manipulator; he loved finding loopholes, using coercion…a lawyer through and through. Subterfuge seemed just up his alley.

But in the end, what other choice did she have?

“…alright,” she agreed quietly after a long moment. “Deal.”

Silence settled between them again. Bishop became increasingly aware of his hands still holding hers. She disliked her mind’s dilemma or whether or not she liked the contact; she grew unnerved as she felt herself erring on the side of touching him back. Curling her wrists back as far as she could, she made a point of turning her gaze from him and looking purposefully elsewhere. Whether he got the hint or he was just being merciful, he slowly withdrew, his fingers dancing across her palms as he did. She desperately ignored the tingling sensation left behind there.   

“Ah, foster care,” she said begrudgingly after he’d put more space between them. “My _second_ least favorite topic of discussion…”

“You said you aged out,” he cut in. “No one ever tried adopting you?’

“Nah,” she answered easily. “I made sure that never happened.”

His expression was that of confusion and she might have found it adorably endearing under other circumstances: namely not being tied to a chair at his mercy.

“I’m a fighter,” she told him flatly, as if that wasn’t already the most obvious thing in the world. “I caused problems.”

He accepted that quickly, his mouth quirking upwards into a smile.

“Ah, so you were always an instigator.”

“…no,” she admitted hesitantly after a moment, “I mean, yeah, maybe I was. But before my parents died, I still had restraint. I had the sense to pick and choose my battles.”

“What changed that?”

“It was…”

She stopped herself, worrying her lip with her teeth. Taking a moment, she re-centered her thoughts.

“I went through a lot of foster families,” she started again

She clenched her jaw as her mind leapt ahead of her and began dredging up particularly vivid and painful memories. Giving herself another moment, she breathed in deeply through her nose and let it back out slowly. When she looked back up, John was still watching attentively, waiting for her to go on.

“I went through a lot of _bad_ foster families,” she amended. “Especially in the beginning…I was still reeling from the death of my parents, of being uprooted from the only home I’d ever known. Taken from my dog, my friends, my neighbors, my school…for a long time, I felt like I was just on autopilot, going through the motions…waiting for something to wake me up…”

She could still picture that first house she’d been placed with – the first family of many to take her in. They had a white picket fence like the one that had been around her parent’s front yard, a large backyard with a swing set, and a beautiful view of the lake down the hill.

“That first family, I did try to be accommodating,” she told John, “I was the ‘Yes Man’, trying to live up to their expectations, doing everything that was asked of me. And they might have adopted me, given the chance…”

She trailed off as she thought over the pivotal moment that flipped the situation on its head.

“My parents never hit me,” she said after a long moment. “I’d heard of kids being beaten before, but I’d never witnessed it until foster care…”

For a moment, she could hear John’s voice from the other day in her head. _My parents took me into the kitchen and threw me on the ground…_

Had he been telling the truth? Or was that just some ploy he used on people to make them break?

“I don’t remember what sparked it, but I saw my first foster mom slap one of my foster sisters silly,” she said, quickly sidestepping that intrusive thought. “And I was stunned – who did that to a child? What right did they have? So I spoke up, I asked why she did that, why was that okay? She turned to me and offered to do the same if I kept being disrespectful.”

She snorted and shook her head to herself, laughing lightly.

“So I shoved her and dared her to do it. I was whisked out of there within 2 days, deemed an ‘aggressive, uncontrollable’ child.”

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch downward in disgust.

“Maybe I should have listened, just done as she said…those people had never hit _me_. My next family…well, they more than made up for lost time.”

An unspeakable rage began to build up inside as she internally filed through to her next… _family_.

“Ray and Delphine Tyson…,” she uttered venomously, “Those people had no business being foster parents. Don’t know how they even got through the system, I know Ray had convictions…maybe just Delphine’s name was on file.”

She leaned back and stared vacantly at the wall beyond John.

“That was the most nightmarish place I’ve ever been. I got slapped and shoved around every single day, mainly just because they could do it.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, feeling a mixture of longing and sadness spring forth in her heart.

“But I put up with it for a long time…cause I met my foster brother, Paul, there,” she said quietly after a moment. “Quiet, gentle little soul. Too good, too kind, too loving. He was only 8. I was 13. I took it upon myself to look after him.”

She had to stop and breathe a moment before her emotions derailed her entirely. Her stomach churned violently, threatening her with nausea even when she had nothing in her gut to wretch.

“I took the brunt of the punishment,” she said. “Let myself get beat. It kept them distracted from Paul, kept him safe. And whenever they turned their attention to him, I’d act up or speak out and bring it back to me. And I’d just take it, whatever they dished out. Told teachers that I’d tripped, that I fell - all those bullshit excuses kids use to cover it up. Cause I couldn’t bear the thought of Paul and I being separated – or me being yanked out of there and he being left behind to fend for himself…”

How CPS had never been dragged in was beyond her understanding. She knew that her science teacher at least had put in a call or written a letter or something…and yet, they never showed up at the door.

“Delphine was all talk – she rarely raised her hand against us. She was absolutely terrified of Ray…I might have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t sacrificed our safety for the sake of her own. I hated her so much…but it paled in comparison to how much I hated Ray…”

Her vision blurred red as an image of the man materialized in her mind.

“He was a monster,” she snarled. “He was the one who hit us, who threw us around. Disgusting man, inside and out. Always out of a job, an alcoholic… _A model citizen_.”

There were very few people she could say she hated more than Ray – the only person ranking higher being _that man…_ but she refused to expend a single moment thinking of him, lest she be derailed from her current thought train.

“He was bad drunk…but he was even worse sober. That’s when his attention wandered. Often to us kids, just trying to survive each day in that place,” she said quietly, feeling her nerve falter.

She hated the particular memory that began to surface in association with Ray. It was hard enough to think about, let alone discuss; her tongue tied for a moment as she struggled to speak.

“One day, he comes home from wherever he’d been out on a bender. He’s pissed about something. And it’s just me and Paul sitting with our homework by the TV…”

In her mind’s eye, she could still see the sudden turn in Ray’s face, the glint in his piggish black eyes that shot horror down her spine.

“He gets mad that we dared intrude into his personal space, _his sanctuary_.  Starts screaming and hollering, carrying on about what lowlife pieces of shit we are; that we deserved to be out on the streets…”

The story steadily slipped from past tense to present as she watched the scene unfold as if in real time all over again. She was a silent spectator in that grimy, rundown trailer, looking on in resigned dread.

“Ray grabs me when we try to move away from the TV,” she said lifelessly, lost in the memory. “Crushing my arm, threatening me with all kinds of terrible things. He must have seen the look in my eyes because suddenly he has me by the throat and he’s screaming right in my face.”

“Paul knows to hide when he gets like that – but for some reason, he’s just standing there, watching. I mouth off to Ray and he backhands me to the floor. I keep talking, keeping his attention on me. And he keeps hitting me. My nose is bleeding and I’m trying not to slip in my own blood as he keeps coming back for me…”

She shook her head to herself as she pictured her foster brother standing there watching through wide eyes.

“Paul had never shown an instance of backbone until that moment. I don’t know what changed, but suddenly he’s running at Ray and shoving him off of me. This little 8 year old, weighs no more than 60 pounds, is trying to take on this grown man. And I hadn’t known terror like that since the day I lost my parents.”

She could still see Paul dangling from Ray, his arms wrapped around his neck before the man had the sense to pry the boy’s arms off him and shove him backwards to the floor.

“Ray turns from me and starts pounding on Paul. I can barely get myself back onto my feet before Paul is on the ground and getting kicked. I grab the closest thing possible and bring it down on Ray’s head. Glass bottle – it breaks on impact and it’s enough to get him to stop beating on Paul. I yell for Paul to run; get to anywhere that isn’t here. Just get as far away as possible.”

“I start going at Ray, punching every inch of him I can get my hands on. He’s on the defensive for a minute, still off balance from the glass to his head. But I slip in my own blood that’s on the linoleum and he’s back on me in an instant.”

The pain is so real for a minute she can barely speak. But it’s enough to draw her back out of that horrific moment and back to the present.

“He beat me to a pulp,” she laughed humorlessly. “Punching me over and over and over…I fell to the floor and he started kicking me, knocking me into the cabinets and never letting up. I couldn’t fight back anymore, everything hurt. I just lay there and took it until I finally blacked out. Didn’t wake up until long after I’d been taken to the hospital. 4 broken ribs, bruised spleen and kidney, fractured cheekbone. Black and blue just about all over...”

She fell silent again, recalling the conversation that followed. She could hear the voices reverberating in her head even now, filling the silence of that nauseatingly sterile room.

“Paul managed to make it up the road to someone with a phone and they called the police. Wasn’t the first instance of a domestic disturbance being reported from there. They busted down the door and took Ray into custody. I woke up in a bed feeling like I’d been run over by a truck. First thing they told me was that Ray had been arrested. That he couldn’t hurt me anymore,” she said quietly after a moment. “I didn’t really care about that. I asked about Paul...”

A feeling of intense pride welled up in her chest, driving some of the sadness away.

“He was bruised and sore, but he was alright,” she said. “Could have been a whole lot worse if he had been kicked around a while longer. He was out of the hospital in two days….don’t know how long I was there: A month, at least. Paul got sent to a different foster family while I was still healing up. They adopted him and moved out of state somewhere along the line….I never saw him again after that day…but I did get a letter from him that my CPS agent delivered to my hospital bed.”

She smiled genuinely for the first time in days.

“He talked about how great his new parents were, how happy he was. Just went on and on about stuff that’s important to kids: his dad had a red truck and how red was his favorite color, they had a dog named Barkley since he barked so much, the friends he made at his new school…”

Her eyes looked up into John’s face again.

“That life wouldn’t have been possible for him if I’d just stood by and let him get beat up by Ray,” she told him. “I have no doubt Ray would have killed him. Stepping in didn’t do me a whole lot of good, but it got Paul out of a living nightmare. Gave him a chance…”

“But at your own expense,” John finally chose to cut in.

Bishop merely shrugged in response.

“So be it. If there was one good thing I’ve ever accomplished, it was that. And it was with my fists…I sat in that hospital room, looking at that letter for the longest time…And it was there that I promised myself I’d never back down from a fight ever again, that I’d never turn my back on people who needed me…No matter the odds.”

She made a point of holding John’s stare.

“Cause if I don’t fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves, then who else will?”

John held her gaze as she lapsed back into silence; he didn’t have an answer for her, not that she expected him to. Still, she could tell he was thinking over what she’d told him by the subtle shift in his eyes. He’d softened ever so slightly, enough that it left her wishing for the first time she could pick his brain and find out what secrets he kept.

Suddenly he was stepping towards her and pushing her chair backwards and all other thoughts vanished.

She knew what was coming.

As he stood above her revving up the gun, she was acknowledging what pain awaited her and preparing herself for it. It didn’t matter one bit. The moment he was on top of her starting to ink in the second letter, she was writhing in agony. It bit too closely to the first brand, still so raw and painful. And yet she managed to keep her reaction to a minimum, holding back anything more than a soft hiss. He hadn’t broken her yet – she could still deny him some satisfaction.

It seemed to go by quicker this time and she breathed a sigh of relief as he eased up to scrutinize his work. As she tried reining herself back in, she felt a single tear burn a hot trail down her cheek. She could feel his eyes return to her face; still trapped between his thighs, there was no room for her to hide. His thumb swept at her cheek, wiping all traces of her weakness away.

“Redemption is not out of your reach,” he told her gently, “You think you’re fighting a worthy cause – your heart is in the right place, it’s merely been led astray. Open it to the Father and his Word and you will see….”

She forced her eyes open to look up at him, taking in how earnest he appeared.

“Redemption?” she asked simply.

“We as sinners must strive for absolution,” he said. “We must let go of our past so that we may look to the future unburdened.”

His other hand found its way into her hair.

“The pains and losses you have suffered were not in vain,” he assured her quietly, almost conspiratorially. “They have led you here, to me - to the Father - so that we may free you of their burdens.”

She could only blink up at him, feeling a strange sense of curiosity blooming in her chest. It was hard to tell…was he speaking just to her…or to himself as well?

“That’s a lot of burden to take on,” she said weakly.

He smiled at her genuinely and she found it to be a strangely beautiful sight.

“Not to someone who’s shouldered the weight before.”

* * *

 

 

 

“There is no pain you are receding  
A distant ship smoke on the horizon  
You are only coming through in waves  
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying  
When I was a child  
I caught a fleeting glimpse  
Out of the corner of my eye  
I turned to look but it was gone  
I cannot put my finger on it now  
The child is grown  
The dream is gone  
I have become comfortably numb.”

_Comfortably Numb, Pink Floyd_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The song Bishop sings is "Tulsa Queen" by Emmylou Harris
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading! Many thanks to those who left kudos <3


	4. Chapter 4

_The truck shook when it idled for too long; the engine was off its mount or a hose was loose, she couldn’t be sure which. If she had driven this car for more than just a handful of minutes, she might have been able to diagnose it. It seemed like the least of her concerns, however, having just boosted it from the Peggies she’d murdered, hopping in and speeding west._

_Beside her, Boomer had his head stuck out the passenger window, snuffling the air and wagging his tail at whatever he smelled. At least he seemed to be distracted from his grief, poor thing. Bishop knew she couldn’t compare with Rae Rae but she hoped she could do well by the woman by getting her dog to safety. She didn’t know what “Judges” were but the note on Boomer’s cage from John Seed had left her uneasy. No fucking way would she let this dog be sent into the hands of Jacob Seed up north – fuck that._

_And fuck Dutch and his insistence that she sort this mess out – what the hell had she done to earn that role?! She was just doing her goddamn job, same as Pratt, Hudson, the Sheriff, and the Marshal. This was well beyond her paygrade; when she took her oaths, they didn’t make any mention of martial law, doomsday cults, and religious fanatics._

_Nah, fuck that. She loaded Boomer into the closest car and took off. They had just passed under the shadow of the giant “YES” sign that loomed over Holland Valley and were speeding towards the tunnel somewhere up ahead that would lead them out of the county. Bishop squinted as she saw it materializing before her eyes, not quite believing what she was seeing until she was forcing the sputtering truck to a stop several hundred feet away._

_Tons upon tons of rock and cement lay upon each other, blocking the entrance entirely._

Fuck.

_Dutch had said the roads had been blocked, but she’d naively assumed that meant there were armed guards and a line of cars forming a barricade to sneak by. She glared at the collapsed tunnel for a minute before cutting the engine. Her eyes locked onto the body dangling upside down just under the entrance and she felt her stomach turn._

Poor bastard.

_“Come on, Boomer,” she called as she exited the vehicle, ushering him out the driver side door._

_She didn’t know how long it would take…but they could scale the mountain on foot if they had to. Best case scenario, there was more than likely a jeep trail cutting somewhere up the mountainside that they could exploit. Take it as far as it went – with a little luck maybe that would get them over the peaks and down the other side before they had to improvise._

Missoula is where the Marshal suggested we head, _she remembered, trying her best not to get angry thinking about him._ That’s still our best bet: get the National Guard and come back swinging.

_As they made their approach towards the tunnel, a scream ripped through the air. Bishop turned around instantly, hand hovering over her holstered pistol. The echo was reaching them from back east…the exact opposite direction of where they were headed._

Leave it _, a voice in her head urged._ You have a long road ahead _._

_Her hips pivoted and turned her back to face the tunnel, but she found she couldn’t bring herself to take a step forward. She stared at the blockade, her eyes seeing but focusing on nothing before her. Her thoughts still remained on the hapless individual crying out just moments before._

For fuck’s sake, GO! LEAVE! _the voice screamed at her._ For once in your life, just think of yourself!

_Boomer whined next to her, his ears twitching as he listened to the stagnant air; Bishop listened with him, waiting to hear another cry for help._

They’re dead or captured – nothing can be done. Just go.

_It might be true – as the silence stretched on, she found herself believing the voice inside. Still, she waited, ear to the air. After several moments of quiet, Bishop found the tension in her shoulders alleviating. With reluctance, she focused on the mountain in front of her-_

_-just in time for another ear-splitting scream to pierce the air._

_“Damn it,” she snarled to herself as she spun and took off running, slipping her pistol from its holster._

_Would she regret this? Maybe. But would she regret turning her back on whoever was out there crying for help even more? Absolutely._

_They weren’t too far down the road, their crashed car flanked by two Peggie trucks; there was a man lying still in the dirt, a Peggie kneeling on his back and holding him down, while a woman cowered nearby, sobbing as a second Peggie loomed over her._

_Bishop raised her pistol and fired the moment her sprinting approach was heard; the Peggie on top of the man keeled over as she shot him square between the eyes. The other Peggie was still whirling around to look at his downed partner when she shot him through the thigh, sending him collapsing to the ground with a cry of pain._

_As she stomped closer, the woman had worked up the nerve to rush to her companion, helping him sit up. The pair watched wordlessly as Bishop followed the Peggie attempting to scamper away, dragging his injured leg awkwardly behind him. He didn’t make it more than 7 feet before she shot him again in the back, sending him face first into the dirt; he didn’t get back up._

_Bishop turned back and faced the pair; they were regarding her peculiarly, like the clouds had just parted and she had descended from the sky bathed in sunlight. It made her feel torn between uneasy and proud. She found she couldn’t regret her decision to intervene, even if she tried as the pair stood up and approached her gratefully._

* * *

 

_If you had just listened and left, we could have been riding back into town with the National Guard weeks ago and had this whole thing swept up by now_ , that cruel voice from deep inside chastised her. _Instead, you just had to pick a fight you couldn’t possibly hope to win, had to play the hero and go it alone…and look where it’s gotten you. Are you satisfied?_

“Yes,” she rasped out defiantly.

Her only real regret was using her voice just now, her throat aching with use. Dehydration was taking its toll, edging her towards feelings of delirium. As if physically speaking to the voice in her head wasn’t evidence enough of that…

She found herself drifting in and out of consciousness far more often that she had at the start; keeping her head up had become a chore, keeping her eyes open even worse. It had been a while since she’d roused from her last impromptu “nap” – she didn’t know when another bout of exhaustion would hit and send her back into the dark oblivion of unconsciousness once more.

Her neighbor next door had been her only other source of human interaction besides John and the Peggie who’d slugged her (her jaw ached intermittently, reminding her of a bruise she couldn’t see) and so far he hadn’t been much of a conversationalist. His crying and screaming came about sporadically and Bishop tried her best to soothe him with song; he often fell silent when her voice reached him but whether it was because he was comforted or cowed by her, she would never know. When he started making sounds like he was going to enter another panic attack - like just now - she was preemptive in her methods.

“ _Almost heaven…West Virginia. Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River.._.”

It was a miracle she could keep track of the lyrics in her head at this point, let alone raise her voice enough to reach him. Agony erupted from her dry throat with each word but she forced herself to commit.

“ _Life is old there, older than the trees – younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze._ ”

Dehydration may take her out before she reached “Atonement” it seemed. So be it.

“ _Country roadsssss, take me homeeee,”_ she belted, desperately trying to ignore how hoarse her voice was becoming, _“To the place I belong! West Virginia, Mountain Mama! Take me home, country roads!”_

Her voice broke in the last word and she was forced to stop; she tried ignoring the wheezing quality her breathing had taken as she rested.

“Sounds like you can’t take much more of that,” John’s voice greeted her ears. “Might want to give yourself a break.”

“What, you not a fan of John Denver or something?” she joked weakly. “That’s practically sacrilegious.”  

John was walking into her field of vision now, amusement in his eyes.

“Can’t say I’ve spent too much time listening to him,” he replied simply.

He looked ready to comment on the irony of her accusing him of blasphemy. She cut him off easily by launching into a verse.

“ _Now he never told a story of the time that he was gone. Some say he was a **lawyer,** some say he was a **John**. _ ”

 She didn’t bother to gauge his reaction as she shut her eyes and tilted her head back.  
“ _There was something in the city that he said he couldn't breathe,  
there was something in the country that he said he couldn't leave.”_

Her vocal chords screamed in protest but she forced herself to finish.

_“Oh Montana, give this child a home._

_Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own._

_Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes._

_Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild Montana Skies.”_

She ran out of steam and ended without any flair, feeling fairly weak and faint. When she finally could look back at John, she found his face was a mixture of surprise and something akin to contemplation. A half-smirk curled her lip up.

“He seems up your alley,” was all she added hoarsely.

John stared a moment longer, a smile working its way on to his face. It was fairly warm…dare she say, almost affectionate? Her fatigue very well may have affected her perception but it seemed he’d lost a lot of his edge around her in the last day alone. He didn’t act or appear as antagonistic as he had when she first woke up in this room.

He placed a tray on the cart beside her and she realized she hadn’t even seen him bring it in with him in the first place. Maybe her perception really was skewed – all his soft gestures may very well just be in her head after all…

The sound of water trickling made her head snap up in attention. John had a pitcher and glass and was pouring a full cup of water. Her bone dry throat seized up, begging for a taste; it was all she could do to swallow thickly and force her mouth shut so as to not gape like a fish. If she had any saliva left, she’d probably be drooling; fortunately – or not, depending on how you looked at dehydration – she was spared that embarrassment.

John turned his gaze to her for a moment, taking in the concentration on her face as she focused on the cup in his hand. Placing it and the pitcher aside on the cart, he came back to her and righted her chair in a single motion; the movement was worse than previous times due to just how light-headed she was already feeling.  

Bishop had to force down her nausea through heavy inhales and exhales, trying to steel herself with the notion of how much worse she would feel if she did throw up and lost any precious moisture still left inside. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked back to John, taking hold of the cup once more. She could see the condensation already forming on the glass and it was all she could do to keep from trembling in anticipation. For a moment, she wondered if there wouldn’t be a catch – something she’d have to trade in exchange – and felt a knot of dread form in her stomach. But the feeling passed as he brought the glass up to her lips; it took great effort on her part not to knock the cup out of his hands in her enthusiasm

The sensation of water running down her throat was indescribable – it was probably as close to bliss as she’d ever get. She greedily gulped as fast as she could, trying to soothe the savage ache.

“Easy,” John cautioned as she struggled to breathe around one too many sips in a row.

She let herself inhale only after the glass was empty and pulled away, licking her lips for any last remnant of moisture. Her ears perked up at the sound of water trickling again and looked expectantly to John as he poured another glass.

Being dependent on him for water or food didn’t sit well with her but she could push that feeling aside easily enough when she was just _so thirsty._ She knew she should just be grateful for every free drop she was given and tilted her head back the second he brought the glass back up to her lips.

Glorious water. Her head was still woozy but her throat felt temporary relief and it made all the difference in the world. All it took was a gentle swipe of one of John’s fingers from the glass up under her chin to break the spell and draw her attention swiftly back to him, watching her intently.

She couldn’t help but hold his gaze and felt the atmosphere shift between them. There was something to his gaze…an intensity that almost bordered on hunger. Suddenly the benign act of giving her water seemed so very intimate; she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. Hastily, she averted her eyes, gaze cast to the dirty floor.

“What’s the agenda for today?” she jibed lightly, trying to distract herself. “I’m saving _the big one_ for last; I have no idea where to start for now.”

He must have called her bluff but he said nothing of it, merely placing the glass back beside the pitcher. His eyes were shining with amusement as he turned back to her.

“You’re saving one particular sin for last?” he asked. “My, it must be substantial.”

She gave him a tight lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You have no idea.”

John seemed to silently assess her for a moment. Bishop couldn’t bring herself to glare at him like she used to, merely stared back at him, face neutral. She watched him turn back to the cart and pluck something off its surface to divert his attention to.

In his hand was her father’s badge; she felt a momentary catch in her breath before she calmed herself, merely looking on in silence. He stared at the star intently, as if it held some kind of answer to a question or riddle plaguing him. His thumb idly ran a circle around the shield in the center, following the path her fingers had worn and dulled over the years.

“I didn’t have parents like yours,” he said after a moment. “Not my biological parents, nor my adoptive ones.”

She blinked in surprise; this was not what she was expecting out of him at all.

“Joseph, Jacob, and I were all a burden to our parents,” he continued. “Our father beat us and degraded us and blamed us for all his troubles…our mother…well, she simply walked out the door one day and never returned…”

Bishop had wondered about the Seed’s upbringing a time or two before that moment. What kind of lives had they lived before coming to Hope County? What struggles and obstacles had they had to face that shaped them into the people they were today? Nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it.

“Our father went to jail and the three of us were put into foster care,” he said, directing a nod her way. “They weren’t particularly good to us, much like your first family. Jacob set fire to their farm and that was the end of that.”

From what she’d heard about Jacob, that didn’t surprise her at all. Aside from a brief taunting from him over the radio, she hadn’t interacted much with the eldest Seed, but she knew from the hurried and hushed whispers from everyone across Hope County just how dangerous of a reputation he held.

“Jacob got sent away and Joseph was put into a different foster family,” John carried on. “I got adopted. A couple named the Duncans: wealthy Georgians with no children of their own.”

His eyes suddenly grew glassy; Bishop could tell he wasn’t fully with her anymore, lost somewhere between memory and thought.

“Suddenly, I was John Duncan,” he said after a long moment, a tight-lipped smile pulling onto his face.

His smile was so fake that it was almost eerie; Bishop knew only too well a smile like that was used to hide pain and anger. She’d gotten used to making the gesture too often over the years to mistake it for anything else.

“I was very naïve as a child,” John said, starting to pace. “Far too trusting. Even separated from my brothers, I thought that maybe life would be turning around for me. I now had parents – both of whom would be present and involved in my life – a bed of my own, a house with a white picket fence…what more could I possibly want?”

It was a rhetorical question – that much she knew. He was building up for something terrible and Bishop found herself bracing for an uncomfortable answer.

“What I didn’t realize,” he continued, “Is that people providing a roof over your head or money in your pocket don’t make for a happy home…love and compassion are what’s needed for that.”

He stopped his pacing to turn and face her fully. She met his eyes and took in the hollow, coldness that had settled back into them.

“There was none of _that_ to be had in the Duncan’s home.”

It took her a moment to realize that none of the hate and anger in his eyes was directed at her: it was solely towards the Duncans. She had to wonder if John looked at all like she did when she was describing life with Ray and Delphine to him.

“My mother and father were both devout Christians,” John said as he resumed his pacing. “Not unusual in the deep south. But it was almost an obsession for them – something they fixated on every hour of every day…”

With every word, Bishop felt herself growing more on edge. She hadn’t encountered too many religious fanatics in her life – well, up until she moved here and encountered a certain cult – but she’d heard enough prior to arriving in Hope County to know that things rarely went well when one got mixed up with them.

“We went to church every day of the week. We prayed at every meal and every night before bed. And confession – oh, that was a given.”

She watched as his hands flexed unconsciously, forming fists even as he crossed his arms across his chest to hide the gesture.

“I wondered if they ever adopted a son to carry out a legacy they couldn’t have,” he said. “They couldn’t conceive, you see. One or both were infertile – each secretly blamed the other, I’m sure – and adoption would be the only way to ensure their name was passed on.”

He turned his gaze back to her.

“Or did they merely adopt a small boy out of the backwoods of Georgia because it seemed like such a child would have to be full of sin? Someone that God-fearing, pious Christians would have to rescue from his own depravity and wickedness?”

Her stomach turned at his words.

“So they tried their best to force the sin out of me. In every way they could think…”

She was no stranger to abuse – it had been a constant companion in her young adult years. Still, it was never easy having to hear someone else detail their own experiences. She had far too much empathy for her own good, making it far too easy for someone else’s pain to become her own. Her mind flashed back to his story of being thrown to the ground in the kitchen and realized that it had been the Duncans, not Mr. and Mrs. Seed, who’d broken him.

“Countless meals I was forced to skip - or ‘fasts’, as they liked to call them,” he said, surprisingly calm. “Forced into the dark of a closet and locked in without release until I’d done countless Hail Marys and prayed for hours upon end. Made to copy lines upon lines of scripture, forced to write until my hands cramped and bled. Read, memorize, and recite passages over and over and over…”

He trailed off as he inhaled a deep breath, his hands fingers curling into his palms as he shut his eyes. When he finally turned back to her, his smile was hollow and ironic.  

“They were very creative with their methods,” he said.

“On top of the beatings?” Bishop cut in.

She watched his eyes shutter as he drew in another breath.

“On top of those, yes,” he agreed after a moment.

Her breathing had quickened before she’d even noticed, emotions making her chest rise and fall sharply. It was becoming hard to maintain an air of calm indifference when she was placing herself in a young John Seed’s position.

“When they hit you, it always your back…or you stomach or chest?” she asked after a long pause.

His eyes grew hard and she knew he was reliving some particularly dark moment; he didn’t answer.

“Never your face - somewhere other people wouldn’t see,” she continued, “Places someone wouldn’t think to look unless they knew better.”

“Yes.”

She felt her stomach twist as she recalled a few of her own nightmare housing arrangements. It left her wondering if John spent nights curled up nursing a bruised kidney or spleen as she had, wondering when the day would come when the beating went just a little too long…when something finally burst that would grant an agonizingly slow death.  

“Bastards,” she huffed angrily. 

“No one was ever any wiser,” John said after a moment. “Outside of our home, they played the part of loving and nurturing parents. Masqueraded as giving and caring members of the community, as pious and penitent to their congregation…they wore their masks so well, who would believe a young child - originally from a broken home and taken into theirs out of the kindness of their hearts - who spoke against them?”

_No one._

People refused to see what they didn’t want to believe, she knew; they’d turn a blind eye to just about everything they could if it meant maintaining the status quo. Even at the expense of a child.

“So I learned to wear a mask as well,” he continued, walking across the room to the workbench. “I hid my pain, my anger, my sadness – the things no one really wanted to acknowledge or entertain.”

He leaned back heavily on the cart, hands planted on either side of himself; she took notice of how tightly his fingers gripped the edges.

“I was expected to confess my sins every day,” he said. “Most days, I had something I needed to repent for. Other days…things just went well. There wasn’t anything I felt I had done wrong.”

John smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly.

“But that wasn’t acceptable to my parents. It wasn’t possible for a young boy to not have sinned for a single day in his life…I had to be lying.”

Sympathy welled up deep inside Bishop’s chest. It was not something she had ever expected to feel for John Seed but it threatened to overwhelm her. She wondered what he’d looked like as a child; in her mind, all she could see was a small boy, terrified and looking for acceptance and love.

It made her heart clench. 

“The punishments were always worse when I had nothing to confess to. So, I began lying. Making up sins to fill their ears with, to give them something to direct their energy towards. I told them what they wanted to hear and it made things…well, less unbearable.”

“They still hurt you, even when you gave them what they wanted?” she cut in again, unable to contain herself.

It was a rhetorical question so he didn’t answer. But his silence almost incensed her more than a response could have.

“You couldn’t ever win,” she said. “If you told the truth, you lost. If you lied and told them what they wanted to hear, you still lost.”

She found herself trembling with anger before she realized it; it coursed through her veins as she envisioned Mr. and Mrs. Duncan lording over a young John. What kind of monsters – no, she knew what kind of monsters did that to children under their care. She knew only all too well. The only difference was that hers had all been foster parents while John’s had come from his adopted parents – people who had taken a different oath and promise to care for a child exclusively as their own, to love and protect them always.

There was something so profoundly hideous and disturbing about their abuse in her mind that made hers seem almost quaint in comparison. It left her feeling ill.

“How did you survive?” she demanded. “How did you make it through?”

He came closer and knelt in front of her, a hand on either of hers. For once, as he leaned into her, she didn’t shy away; instead, she met his gaze full on as he left only an inch or two between them.

“The same way you did. I endured.”

She shook her head at him.

“I couldn’t have survived what you went through,” she told him honestly.

He merely gave a small shrug, the first time she’d seen such a gesture from him.

“I think you could have,” he told her. “You actually might have been able to win against them.”

As she looked up into his face, searching for some sign of his anger from a moment before, she found that it had vanished before her very eyes. There was nothing but softness in his expression and she found that strange atmosphere was creeping back between them again.

“How did they die?”

That question was all it took to harden his eyes again. He stared for a long moment, seeming to evaluate her. Slowly, a hollow smile pulled at his lips.

“I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said a bit forcefully.

“Of course not,” she replied. “But indulge me.”

She watched his mouth twitch and thought he’d refuse. He lifted her hands up from their grips on the chair arms; she allowed him to, prizing her fingers up so he could slide his much larger palms underneath hers. Silently, she watched as he inspected her dainty hands and fingers with care.

“Mother had early onset dementia,” he said finally. “She slowly withered away over the course of a decade…until one day, she was just gone.”

His eyes grew glassy as he became immersed in memory, even as he still toyed gently with her hands.

“Father didn’t pass until I was already away at college, just a few years before Joseph found me again. He died of a heart attack, seated at his desk in his office.”

She scoffed, a harsh exhalation of sound through her mouth. His eyes looked back to her as her lips pulled up into a bitter smile.

“A shame people like them never get what they deserve in the end,” she told him.

For a moment, his lips quirked up in what looked like the beginning of a smile that he kept at bay.

“They died before their time – isn’t that enough?” he asked simply.

“No, they got off easy,” she argued. “After all they put you through…”

She shook her head furiously, the motion whipping her loose braid to and fro. Her scorching gaze locked with his as she spoke again.

“You didn’t deserve that. _No child_ deserves that.”

John stared for a long moment. She held his gaze, watching emotions swim through his eyes too fast for her to keep track of. After a pause, he smiled softly at her. A hand rose to play with a loose strand of her hair that had broken free of her messy fishtail; he tucked it gently behind her ear and she felt herself swallow thickly. The way he was looking at her…

“Did you ever think about running away?” she asked quickly, turning her eyes from him.

He seemed to ponder that for a moment, hand stilling in her hair.

“Once or twice,” he answered. “But my parents were the ones with money, not me. I didn’t have anywhere to go, any friends or family to turn to. I wouldn’t have lasted long out there on my own.”

He scrutinized her, eyes scrunching ever so slightly.

“You ran away, I take it?” he asked.

She let out a huff of laughter; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a genuine one until now.

“Oh, every chance I got,” she told him truthfully. “I was on the streets probably as much as I was ever in a home.”

He backed off, hands slipping away from her, and she was unnerved at how much the action displeased her. She quashed the feeling down, drawing herself back together as he gave her room to breathe – _to think._

“Tell me,” he said as he walked over to his workbench and leaned back against it.

Bishop furrowed her brow as she considered where to start.

“First time I ever ran away, I was 14,” she said. “Just about a year after my stint with Ray and Delphine ended. Got shuffled around a few homes, none of which struck my fancy. So I just packed what little I had in a bag and hit the road. Went straight back to Jackson County.”

She leaned back in her chair, tossing her braid back behind her shoulder.

“Became a bit of an addiction after the first time: just hitched rides until I got to where I was going. In the beginning, I was just running back to Jackson County. Went back to the people who were still living there: the Kleins, Deputy Shaw…whoever would take me for a bit. They had to turn me back in sooner or later but they always let me stay a night at least. It was always the best times when they let me stay longer. Once, Deputy Shaw let me stay for a full two weeks before he called in and asked about me…”

She bit the inside of her lip, trying not to feel too bitter.

“My foster parents hadn’t even put in a missing person’s report,” she said. “The arrangement didn’t last long afterwards, obviously.”

Rolling her shoulders, she tried to force the feeling away and re-center herself.

“Anyway, it became harder to go back after that. Shaw could get in trouble and I didn’t want to be a burden on him. So I tried making do around wherever they dumped me. It was easier around the most populated areas – Great Falls, Bozeman, Billings, whichever. They had the most other runaways too.”

There was always a group of teenagers to be found who were just trying to escape the realities of their situations. Bishop had found them to be better company than the judgmental stares or sympathetic glances of those fortunate enough to have stable homes and families; other runaways asked far fewer questions and offered far less pity.

“It was often a mixed bag. There were other foster kids escaping the realities of their situations and homes, but there were also the kids from broken homes. The abused ones, the misunderstood ones – whatever it was that made them feel like their homes with their real families weren’t worth staying in.”

She chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head.

“Guess we formed what they’d call ‘gangs’. Just a bunch of kids looking out for each other, more like. Found a decent place to hunker down and we’d scrounge for food and clothes, whatever was needed.”

Looking pointedly at John, she noticed he was at rapt attention, his eyes staring into hers. She tried ignoring whatever feeling that sparked deep in her gut: there was a certain lightness to it that unnerved her.

“I was never good at that part – ‘collecting’. It was largely just stealing shit. Sometimes you got lucky and some generous man or woman would see a dirty, hungry face and take pity, buying you a sandwich or giving you a few bucks to spend on your own. Most times, you weren’t so lucky and had to either go hungry or take for yourself. I was the daughter of a sheriff – stealing things, even to survive, didn’t sit well with me...”

It really hadn’t; the irony of her situation was never lost on her. She had remained a deviant for the majority of her teenage years, and yet she could never escape her homespun values and morals instilled by her parents. Contradiction upon contradiction…

“There was this other foster kid I met, Gabe. He helped me out a lot. Stole when I wouldn’t, enough for the both of us. A lot of the other kids looked up to him: he was charming, quick on his feet and quick with his fingers, funny. Closest thing to a leader we had in our group in Billings.” 

She tried not to dwell too long on the image of him that formed in her head: mop of jet black hair and squinting brown eyes placed over a constant cheeky smile.

“We were friends from the moment we met. I was almost 16. He was 17 and nearly aged out of the system. He was the first person I opened up to about my parents – I felt like I could tell him anything. We talked about our hopes and dreams, things teenagers still have left in them. I mentioned how I’d never seen the ocean before – only ever been to Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho, never the coasts. He immediately pitched this idea that we head for California and go live on a beach.”

Her mouth twitched as she fought between a bitter smile and a frown.

“Had it been anyone else who tried to talk me into that, I would have told them they were crazy. But this was Gabe – closest thing I had to a best friend. I would have followed him just about anywhere. So I agreed and within a week we were hitchhiking our way out of the state: Gabe, myself, and three others.”

Meg, Adrian, and Miguel were the other three she neglected to name. They had been kind enough to her, but she hadn’t been nearly as close to them as she was to Gabe. There had been time enough between hitching rides, trainhopping, and walking the highway to get acquainted; before they reached the end of their journey, she felt comfortable with all of them. Somewhere in Wyoming, Gabe had managed to steal a car from a gas station and they drove until they ran out of gas. It had been such a thrill those few hours, belting out tunes together with the windows down, sticking their heads out to scream and holler and laugh…a moment in time she wished could have gone on forever.

“We made it all the way to Salt Lake City before we attracted any suspicion,” she told John after a moment. “Had to get food and find a place to shelter, things we hadn’t thought too much about while throwing the idea around back in Billings. Someone must have suspected we were runaways when we were sniffing around for food in the middle of the day.”

She hadn’t meant to make her and the others sound like raccoons cruising the main strip; under other circumstances she might have laughed at her choice of words. But not in this moment – not when she was feeling herself sober up with each passing second.

“We’re just walking down the street when suddenly a few patrol cars roll up. Cops get out and come up to talk to us, asking where we’re from, why we weren’t in school – the whole spiel before they take you in. Gabe yells and takes off running and suddenly we’re all sprinting off in separate directions with a handful of cops in pursuit.”

It was probably the dumbest scene possible from an outsider’s perspective: five gangly kids, all no more than 17, running around like chickens with their heads cut off while a bunch of cops scrabbled after them. But she never found humor in it, even years afterwards.

“It was just me and Gabe running together, booking it to god knows where.  We made it a few blocks before another patrol car was able to head us off. I was able to outrun them but the first officer out managed get a hold of Gabe.”

If she thought hard enough, she could easily fall back into the memory – feel the adrenaline and fear coursing through her veins. They were just two kids alone in an unfamiliar city being chased down…

They all knew that being apprehended by the cops was not an option, talked about it before they’d hit the road back in Montana. If they got caught, the punishment could be far worse than just being shipped back north. But it was a danger they’d all accepted; if it meant getting to California, then it was a risk they were willing to take. Unfortunately, it ended up coming to pass: Gabe tackled into the asphalt as she was forced to look on.

“I turned and ran back to help – threw myself on the cop and knocked him over. Gabe was on his feet and running and I tried to follow – but the other cop was out of the car by then and she had me on the ground.”

Shaking her head to abate some of the anger growing deep inside, she ground her teeth and tried calming herself. She could still feel the bite of gravel and asphalt in her cheek from being pressed down into the ground of the alley – it had been the same side of her face that still smarted from being slugged the other day.

“I got to watch as Gabe ran away, never once looking back. Didn’t try to help, didn’t stop to see what was happening to me…”

A harsh scoff escaped her mouth, the sound ugly in her ears but justified.

“Having him abandon me was bad enough. I came back for him and he wouldn’t do the same for me, whatever. I might have been able to get over that. But then the cops put me in the back of their car and take me back to the station; the other three kids are already there, they got picked up before me. We’re in there for hours getting grilled with questions: ‘Where are you from? Where are your parents? How old are you?’ And I just sat there in silence, not going to be the one who ratted out my friends…”

She leaned back, her posture mirroring how defeated and dejected she had felt stuck in that interrogation room all those years back.

“I don’t know how much time passed before this Major comes into the room I’m being kept in and he just lays into me. Starts lecturing me about being runaways from out of state, the panic and havoc we’d caused not just back home but across state lines, blah blah blah…I had no idea how he knew all of this until he tells me that they finally chased down Gabe and he’d told them everything…” 

There was a bitter taste forming in her mouth that became hard to talk around.  

“He’d named me as ringleader. Said it was all my idea, that I’d talked the others into all this, that I’d been the mastermind to get them across state lines…”

She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I hadn’t _ever_ experienced betrayal like that before. _My best friend,”_ she sneered. “God, I was such a fool. Just sat there while this cop laid it out before me, stunned and unable to accept what I was hearing.”

“Did you tell him the truth?” John cut in.

She shook her head.

“No,” she said after a moment, “No, I kept quiet.”

“You took the blame? Why?”

Her shoulders rose in a weak shrug.

“I don’t really know. I guess…even though he’d screwed me over…a part of me felt like I should still have his back,” she said finally.

Eyes averting back to John, she took in his expression as she thought over her next words.

“Maybe it was just to show him…that even though he’d betrayed me, I wouldn’t sink to his level and do the same to him.”

John pushed himself up from the workbench and made his way back to her. She watched him approach, head tilted back to look up at him as he stood over her.

“He didn’t deserve that kind of loyalty from you. And yet you still gave it to him,” he said. “It takes an especially strong person to turn the other cheek like that.”

It took a moment for her to process his words; abruptly, she threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh. She tried reining herself in as she swiveled to look back to John.

“Oh, fuck no,” she said plainly. “That’s not where the story ends.”

She was still chuckling to herself as she tried to remember where she’d left off.

“So he threw me under the bus. We were all stuck in Salt Lake City for a few days as the police scrambled to make contact with the social service branches in Utah and Montana. Finally got rounded up and sent home. I don’t know how we didn’t get arrested…just got the longest, most condescending talk about the law and the strain we put on our foster families and society and whatever…”

Letting herself trail off, Bishop took the time to chew on her lip thoughtfully as she thought over the next sequence of events.

“I got sent back to Billings for a while before they shuffled me off to my next foster family. Went back to the gang still milling about together…took me a few weeks before I saw Gabe again…”

Meg, Adrian, and Miguel she never saw again. She hadn’t had much time to dwell on what had happened to each of them once they’d been returned home; they’d all been shuttled back separately to Montana and that had been the end of their friendship. Gabe, however…

She locked eyes with John as she felt an unquenchable rage take hold of her.

“He had the gall to show his face where he knew I’d be. Shows up and walks right up to me in the middle of the street, smiling and joking, like he hadn’t sold me out to the cops. Like he hadn’t abandoned me in that alley when I’d come back and helped him…I said as much to him and he just laughed. Said to my face ‘better you than me’.”

Her eyes shut as she breathed loudly through her nose, trying not to let herself drown in her fury.

“I beat the absolute shit out of him. That first punch, I don’t know how he didn’t see it coming, but he was laid out on the ground and I was on top of him, just pounding every inch of him I could get my hands on.”

A familiar biting pain erupted from her wrists. She looked down to them to see her hands had unconsciously formed into fists, sending her restraints painfully into the raw and angry flesh underneath.

“It didn’t take long for some pedestrians to call the cops and pull me off him, kept us separated until I could be carted off in yet another squad car. I never saw Gabe again after that, just got a slap on the wrist for fighting in public and then shipped off the next day to my new foster family in Bozeman.”

Her eyes rose to John again, ironic smile already in place on her face.

“Every pain has a purpose, didn’t you say that?” she asked him. “If that pain taught me anything, it was there’s only one person you can truly trust in this world. And that is yourself.”

A spark of self-hatred surfaced in her suddenly, leaving her shaking.

“And yet I never truly learned,” she spat out. “I trusted Nancy – _fucking Nancy_ – back at the station! And she betrayed us, abandoned us! Started this whole mess!”

If she ever – _ever_ – saw Nancy again, she swore she would kill her. No force on Earth could ever make her forgive that treachery. She refused to allow herself to think about, let alone, speak of the Marshal; those wounds were still far too fresh.

“I trusted those people wholeheartedly calling me out to Red’s and into your ambush – _that_ was a betrayal.”

She turned her glare on John, eyes narrowing.

“It’s the reason I’m stuck down here with you. Cause I can’t-“

Cutting herself off, Bishop quickly turned her head away from him to glower maliciously at the wall. It wasn’t him she was truly mad at: it was herself. Countless times she’d made the mistake of opening herself up to people – and all it ever earned her was pain and misery. Each time it happened, she swore that she’d never let herself be fooled into letting her guard down again. And yet, it kept happening. Over and over and over…

John was suddenly crouching down in front of her, taking her hands back in his. Bishop’s eyes fell to his tattooed fingers before returning to his face, her gaze questioning.

“It’s not wrong to wish for the best in people,” he told her. “And it’s not foolish to let yourself be vulnerable when you’ve endured so much.”

He looked pointedly into her eyes.

“It’s brave to keep opening your heart to people, in spite of all the damage that’s been done to it.”

She merely blinked at him. That sounded like the first true compliment she’d ever heard from him – one that wasn’t attached to a taunt or used antagonistically. She let her eyes drop to the ropes cutting into her wrists, trying to focus on the pain there instead.   

John followed her gaze down to her fidgeting hands within his, easily picking up on the discomfort. His fingers snaked up to prod at her bound wrists; she winced and barely kept in an exclamation of “ow”. She watched as he drew himself up and made his way back to his workbench.

Bishop felt the sharp intake of breath catch in her throat as he produced a knife from his toolbox. Instantly, her mind summoned the memory of him brandishing a knife sharpener at her, Hudson’s muffled screams ringing in her ears. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as he approached her again, trying valiantly to maintain an impassive expression.

Her tattoo wasn’t complete – he wasn’t going to carve her up just yet…was he? In the rational part of her mind, she knew that it wasn’t time for “atonement”…but the imaginative, delirious part that had long since taken over during her time in isolation. She couldn’t produce any other reason for him to be coming at her, knife at the ready.

Breathing quickly, she swallowed as he stood over her, waiting for him to reach for her chest-

And found herself blinking in surprise as he grasped her wrist and started sawing at the rope binding it. Taking a moment, Bishop tried steadying her still racing heart; she watched in curiosity as John made quick work of her one restraint, the rope coming loose around her arm. Pushing aside the cord, he turned her hand over in his, exposing the underside of her wrist.

Bishop blinked in surprise as she looked at her own bloodied, mangled flesh. She had known she’d been injuring herself in her attempts to find weak links in the rope – there had been no ignoring the pain each time and the resounding ache that came long after she’d ceased her struggling. But the wetness she’d assumed to be sweat this whole time had truly been her own blood creating a slick against her skin.

John’s thumbs ran over the serrated edges of her broken skin and she couldn’t contain the sharp hiss of discomfort that slipped from her mouth.

“You’re destroying yourself,” he chided disapprovingly. “Why do you insist on doing this?”

Through the pain, she gave him a crooked half smile.

“Gotta bust free,” she told him plainly. “Find Hudson and escape from here together.”

His mouth twitched, caught between a frown and a smile. A smile finally won out as he allowed himself to chuckle softly at her.

“Your sense of loyalty,” he said a moment later, “Is nothing short of inspiring.”

His other hand found its way back into her hair, smoothing it down gently.

“Yet you give it to people so wholly undeserving.”

The slight against Gabe she didn’t care about. The slight towards Hudson, she did.

“And who’s deserving of it?” she asked brazenly. “You?”

There was a glint to his eyes as he leaned in closer.

“The Project will do nothing to betray your trust,” he said. “We have been open from the start about our intentions, our goals. The Father protects and cares for those who are devoted to him. Give us your loyalty and I promise-“

John lifted her free hand up, curling his fingers around hers.

“- _I promise_ that you will never need to fear treachery again.”

Bishop’s eyes searched his for deception. Even if his words weren’t true – as she very much believed them to be – the look in his eyes made it hard to challenge him. He, at the very least, believed wholeheartedly in what he was saying. His conviction was something she couldn’t bring herself to condemn; in a way, it made her long for such faith herself.

It didn’t escape her notice that he asked her to give “us” her loyalty and not just “The Father”.

He extracted his hand from her hair and let her fingers slide from his other. She tried ignoring the peculiar sense of disappointment that blossomed in her chest at the actions, instead watching as he fiddled with his tattoo gun.

When he returned to her, he only pushed her back in her chair. She blinked in surprise; this was new.

Chair still sitting properly upright, he revved up the gun in his hand and set to work. She ground her teeth as he started etching the third letter into her flesh. It took her no more than a second to remember he’d left her hand unrestrained; reaching up, she took hold of his shoulder.

John stopped to take in the sight of her fingers on him before looking back to her face. She could only stare back, her mouth a set line. They both had to know she couldn’t do a goddamn thing with just one hand free; it was her left hand, no less – her non-dominant.

He hesitated only a moment longer before continuing where he left off, the tattoo gun buzzing away noisily in his hand. Bishop dug her fingers into his silk shirt, trying to focus on the feeling of its softness against her fingertips instead of the burning on her chest. Based on where he was inking, she knew it to be a “W” – the largest of the five. She steeled herself, fingers clutching his shoulder through his shirt and shut her eyes.

When he finally finished, letting the gun whir silent, Bishop kept her eyes closed. She could practically feel his gaze on her chest, looking over his work. His fingers swept across the fresh, still bleeding letter and she dug her fingers into his shoulder in response. She felt him turn his gaze to her but she kept her eyes shut, still evening out her breathing. Only when she felt him extracting her fingers from his shirt did she deign to crack open her eyes.

He’d grasped her with his free hand, holding her fingers daintily as he set the tattoo gun aside with the other. When he twisted back to her, he took hold of her hand in both of his, turning it over once more. She watched as his fingers traced the lines of her palm, her skin tingling with the sensation. It was hard to fight back the shivers racing down her spine, his gentle touch such a sharp contrast to the aching sting of her newly tattooed flesh.

His eyes left her hand to gaze into her face; she mirrored the gesture, locking eyes with him. The look he was giving her…she didn’t know how she should be feeling. It had been such a long time since anyone had given her such attention and she found it hard to feel upset by it. The electric tension had returned and Bishop felt almost too afraid to move lest she break the spell and set forth something in motion.

She was spared by the sound of the door grinding open behind them, her shoulders tensing from the sound of it.

“John,” an unfamiliar male voice called softly into the room.

John neither spoke nor moved to acknowledge him. Bishop found she couldn’t bring herself to taunt him this time; instead, she held his gaze and waited.

Waited to see what his next move would be.

For a moment, she thought he’d go on ignoring the Peggie that had to still be lingering in the doorway. Then, he moved his gaze back to her hand and curled his fingers around it before drawing it up to his face. He held the back of her knuckles against his lips and shut his eyes. There was no pressure, he was merely holding them there, but Bishop still felt her heartrate accelerate as she felt his beard tickling her skin.

Finally, he gently withdrew, placing her hand back on the chair’s arm before standing. Bishop couldn’t stop herself from watching him go, even as he turned his gaze from her and stepped past. She swallowed thickly and made herself look ahead, listening to the sound of his retreat followed by the clang of the door shutting behind him.

Only after she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t returning did she let herself breathe again, drawing in a long haggard breath to supplement the rush of air that escaped her lips. Her heart was still thumping wildly between her ribs and refused to settle, no matter how much she willed it to. She accepted defeat and let it hammer, leaning back in her chair and shutting her eyes.

Remembering she had a free hand, she let it travel up through her hair to smooth out the disaster her fishtail had become. Willing her mind to think of anything besides John – whose own hand had only recently been toying with her locks – was a monumental struggle that she mournfully realized was probably another battle she couldn’t win.

* * *

The door behind her groaned open slowly.

_That was fast_.

When John left in previous visits, it was always for what she had to guess was hours at a time. There had been instances she swore felt longer – maybe even full days – but trying to keep track of time had almost driven her mad so she’d learned to abandon the pursuit some time ago.

This couldn’t have been more than a half hour – she’d barely even had a chance to try and fall back asleep. There had just been time enough to settle herself from the state he had left her in and achieve a modicum of normalcy: a return to a general state of depressed apathy.

Bishop cracked a smile to herself as she heard measured footsteps approaching. She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder; her eyes slipped shut as she leaned back in her chair.

“You were gone _a while_ this time,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Here I was worried you might be getting bored with me.”

There was no response. She opened her eyes in confusion, looking to the figure at her side-

And found herself looking up into a familiar pair of sunglasses.

Bishop felt her eyes widen as she took in the sight of Joseph Seed, her mouth falling open as the other taunts she had prepared died in her throat. He approached slowly, taking his time as he walked a half circle around the chair, coming to a stop before her.

He stared at her and she could only stare back in stunned silence.

“Deputy,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

It took her a moment to find her bearings before she could respond.

“Joseph.”

Movement from the corner of her eye drew her gaze back towards the door. John was standing there, looking on wordlessly; Bishop took in the guarded expression on his face and the rigidness of his posture and found she could sense some of his apprehension from where she sat. Big brother finally came to check on his progress with the infamous Deputy: he probably was feeling some kind of stress.

Joseph reached towards her and she instantly transferred her gaze back to him. His fingers, rosary looped through them, reached towards her chest, tracing the outline of the letters carved there. She clenched her teeth, trying not to give any reaction.

“Commit your way to the Lord, trust in him and he will do this,” Joseph spoke as he stared at the incomplete tattoo across her flesh. “He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn, your vindication like the noonday sun.”

Those words stirred old memories in her mind, long since buried. A pang of discomfort formed in her chest that she sought to extinguish instantly.

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; do not fret when people succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes.”

Joseph raised his eyes to stare pointedly into her face.

“Refrain from anger and turn from Wrath; do not fret—it leads only to evil. For those who are evil will be destroyed, but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land.”

Bishop painted her face blank, looking at Joseph with feigned disinterest. Truth be told, holding his gaze was one of the single most uncomfortable experiences of her life. It seemed like he could see straight through her, right into her very soul, laid bare for him to behold and judge.

“John has told me of your crisis of faith,” he said softly.

It took great effort not to scoff at him. _Crisis of faith…_ She had no faith, plain and simple.

“Did he also tell you how that came to pass?” she asked derisively.

Joseph cast his eyes downward, seeming to draw into himself.

“The Lord tests us all in some way,” he said. “The causes for these trials do not always make themselves clear. We must simply trust in His will and His unending love and mercy.”   

He made it sound so easy. If he had been with her at age 11 telling her such things, maybe she would have believed him. Instead, she’d been alone with her sorrow and rage and it had hardened her to such sermons.

“Tell that to my parents,” she told him coldly.

Joseph didn’t rise to her bait. He leaned in closer and she felt herself recoiling backwards in response. His whole demeanor was benign but she knew better than to believe in his benevolence. At least with John, she had become more adept at reading his moods and his emotions. Joseph was like a stone, completely unreadable, as he reached for her face. His touch seemed to both burn and freeze all at once.

“There is not a single believer who doesn’t lose sight of the path before them at some point in their journey,” he said. “You have fallen astray, but that does not mean the gates to Eden are closed to you.”

She could only gaze up at him, transfixed. Despite her own beliefs – or lack thereof – that contrasted sharply with his own…there was this undeniable, overwhelming desire to believe in what he was saying. It went against everything she held as true in her mind; but her heart wanted so much to embrace his words...

_This_ , she realized suddenly, was the dangerous charisma that had netted him an army of followers who would live and die at his command.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you,” Joseph quoted to her again. “Do not be like the horse or the mule, which have no understanding but must be controlled by bit and bridle or they will not come to you. Many are the woes-“

“-the woes of the wicked,” she spoke over him, letting her eyes fall shut, “but the Lord’s unfailing love surrounds the one who trusts in him.”

When she opened her eyes and looked back to Joseph, she found she had finally gotten a reaction out of him. He appeared visibly surprised but not displeased; she merely shrugged at him.

“It used to mean something to me,” she said.

He stared in silence long enough for her to feel like she should tremble before him. The weight of his gaze was crushing; she could only try and hold his gaze, feeling more helpless and afraid than she had since that moment back in the chopper when he stopped her from responding to dispatch.

Joseph leaned in and took her face in his hands. She was powerless to do anything beyond look up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“You are not beyond salvation,” he said again. “You’ve already come so far…you need only reach out and accept the hands extended to you.”

Before she even knew what was happening, Joseph was placing his forehead against hers, much as he’d done with John so long ago back at the Baptism. His eyes slipped shut; she mirrored the gesture, feeling herself shiver against him.

It lasted both a lifetime and just a moment. He pulled away and she was left feeling cold…yet able to breathe freely again. She could only watch weakly as he made his way over to John, still standing silently off to the side. Joseph placed his hand upon his brother’s shoulder.

“You’ve done well, John,” she heard him say softly.

He left without another word. Bishop and John both seemed to listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps together in shared silence. She felt rather than saw John finally glance her way; her gaze remained downcast to her feet, her thoughts in turmoil. Slowly, he made his way towards her, his footsteps soft and measured.

She felt his fingers tilt her chin and she looked up into his face. His eyes were shimmering with something that she couldn’t decipher, still too dazed from her encounter with Joseph.

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, mimicking Joseph’s gesture. She felt her breath catch, her skin electrified from the contact. Whereas Joseph’s touch was humbling and overwhelming, John’s was…comforting. Familiar. Warm.

It alarmed her how quickly she’d come to accept his touch, how she found herself craving it. He was wielding too much power over her, a power separate from Joseph’s. She found it terrified her more than anything.

“Anna…you will reach the Atonement,” he promised her. “Trust in me, take my hand, and I will lead you through Eden’s gate into paradise. I can save your soul.”

_Me, my, I…_

Bishop shut her eyes and tried her hardest not to dwell on how much John seemed to be speaking for himself now instead of on behalf of Joseph. She tried even harder not to think about how fast her heart seemed to pound in response.

* * *

 

 

“Look into this mirror tell me  
What do you see?  
  
Beautiful can't begin to describe you  
Or what you mean to me  
Come a little closer to me, let me see you spin  
Want to get inside of your mind, I'll make you let me in  
Open up your eyes  
To the possibilities, take it there, love the fear  
You'd be surprised how good it feels  
To just let go  
  
And breathe, breathe with me  
Breathe, breathe with me  
  
Shadows fall onto our bodies from a winter sun  
Lace on lace in strawberry shades as we both come undone  
Open up your world  
Show me the deepest secrets, I would, I'd understand  
Watching us burn into a million pieces  
One touch of your hand

Breathe, breathe with me  
Breathe, breathe with me"

_ Breathe, Of Verona _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The songs Bishop sings are "Take Me Home Country Roads" and "Wild Montana Skies", both by the late John Denver.  
> Note 2: The song "Breathe" by Of Verona included at the end is actually what this fic is titled after. The lyrics seemed to really resonate with John and Bishop while I listened to it one day.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's still reading or just now reading! It means a lot to me! <3 Thanks to all those who left comments and kudos - you guys rock! <3 <3 <3


	5. Chapter 5

_Sheriff Whitehorse pushed the large wooden doors open, bathing them all in soft light._

_Bishop blinked slowly to adjust her eyes before falling quickly in line with the sheriff. Marshal Burke led the way, marching confidently, almost arrogantly, through the crowds of Peggies lining the pews. He was a fool not to understand the gravity of the situation they were walking in to._

_The Sheriff knew better; he was on edge the moment Burke arrived at the station and briefed them before they all boarded the helicopter together._

_Bishop only knew once they had flown past the giant statue of The Father. Seeing it looming over the Henbane made her blood run cold, realizing just how grave an error she had made in overlooking this oft-whispered about cult. Joseph Seed’s cold stone eyes seemed to follow their bird’s path, passing judgment on them; Bishop didn’t feel better until they were long past its gaze and even then a feeling of overwhelming anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach and refused to go away._

_How the Marshal was able to retain his nerve and bravado - having seen and heard everything she had on the way to the compound - seemed inexplicable. It was as damnable as it was admirable. Bishop felt a great deal of respect for his backbone even as it seemed like every fiber of her being was vibrating from the spikes of adrenaline coursing through her veins._

_They approached the pulpit where Joseph Seed himself stood, in the midst of preaching to his flock. Peggies all turned to stare as the trio made their way down the aisle; Bishop couldn’t help but feel alarm as they all exited their pews to file behind them._

They’re flanking us, _she thought frantically, French braids whipping as she looked over both shoulders to survey the masses._

_Her mind flipped between the Marshal’s assurance that the Peggies would respect a badge and Hudson’s insistence that they respected nothing. She found herself agreeing with Hudson as they stopped in front of the altar and wished she was by her side instead of guarding the entrance._

_The Marshal pulled out his warrant and brandished it at Joseph Seed, his voice a sneer as he rattled off the charge. Joseph, for his part, looked wholly unaffected, still preaching even as he addressed the Marshal and the Sheriff._

_“…and behold it was a white horse…”_

_His gaze finally turned to her and she went rigid. Behind him, his siblings converged to stand behind him, looking on silently. The weight of all of their stares put crushing, unrelenting pressure on her shoulders; she almost felt she should bend under the burden and drop to her knees before Joseph._

_“And Hell followed with him.”_

_His eyes were solely on her as he raised his hands and extended them out, palms up. It felt as if he was reaching out to her, imploring her._

_“Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch,” Burke scoffed to her._

_The words echoed through her ears and into her head, but she was still frozen under the intensity of Joseph Seed’s gaze. Part of her wanted to run – turn tail and flee the church, jump back into the helicopter, and fly straight out of Hope County and over the border into Wyoming._

_“God will not let you take me…,” he said softly, the words reverberating through her very bones._

_The other part of her felt like reaching out to Joseph, placing her hands in his and waiting for him to pass judgment, to deliver forgiveness or a sentencing._

_She extended her hands to him, feeling an insatiable desire to appease him-_

_The cuffs seemingly appeared out of nowhere as she slapped them on his wrists. Her eyes widened as she looked from his hands back up to his face. His eyes were calm, full of acceptance._

_“Sometimes,” he whispered, “The best thing to do is to walk away.”_

_She felt her heartrate accelerate, understanding that their fates had all been sealed._

Give me the keys – let me free him _, she wanted to beg._ Do not board the chopper! It’s a trap!

_This time she didn’t rattle off his Miranda Rights to him. Instead she remained stricken to the spot, her horrified gaze stuck on Joseph and his all-knowing eyes. How many times had she relived this moment now? How many times had it played out exactly the same way?_

_“Why can’t I stop this?” she asked him, begging for an answer._

_“My child,” he said calmly, “It was always meant to happen this way.”_

_His face was full of absolution. She couldn’t bear it._

_Finally tearing her eyes free of him, Bishop looked beyond to his siblings. Jacob and Faith were watching with similar impassive expressions…but John’s eyes connected with hers and held. She looked at him and felt the hunger in his gaze, could feel the burning heat of his judgment. Fire erupted across her chest as letters arose from the flames, slowly carving her sin into her flesh all over again._

* * *

 

She woke with a jolt. Bishop’s eyes darted to the hands on her shoulders, then up to the face of the man hovering mere inches away. She recoiled into herself, only gaining a fraction of her personal space back.

“You were dreaming, Deputy,” John said with a teasing smile.

“I don’t dream,” she told him bluntly. “Not anymore. I only have nightmares.”

Her tone left no room for banter – she’d had time enough to recover from her last encounter with him. John had disappeared after Joseph when the latter had made his grand exit. Bishop had been left alone, physically and emotionally drained, in the unbearable silence of the dark and dirty room. It hadn’t taken more than a few hours before she’d let herself drift off into an uncomfortable sleep, marred by nightmares such as the one John had just woken her from.

“What was it about? You can tell me,” he said coaxingly.

She had to work to withhold a snort. He phrased that like it was an option, a request, when they both knew he would accept nothing less. 

“You were in it,” she told him caustically.

His eyebrows rose as he smiled cheekily at her.

“Are you sure it was a nightmare then?” he asked haughtily.

She ignored the implications of his words, still too unnerved by her vision. If she closed her eyes, she could still see herself before the pulpit, Joseph standing with his hands out before her.

“It was that moment in the church,” she finally told him, quietly. “When we came to arrest Joseph.”

That silenced him for several moments. She didn’t know whether to relish the quiet or feel unnerved by it. One never knew with John.

“Do you dream about that day often?” he asked softly.

“All the time,” she answered.

There was a long moment of silence that stretched between them; while not uncomfortable, Bishop still felt the need to fill it.

“I wonder so often what I could have done differently that day,” she said quietly. “Were there any other choices I could have made to prevent all this? It…it haunts me.”

John was silent, seemingly lost in contemplation as his arms crossed over his chest.

“We can’t change the past,” he told her, speaking patiently, as if to a child. “Everything happens for a reason.”

She huffed out a laugh.

“You sound like Joseph in my dream,” she told him softly.                              

John’s eyes gleamed as he leaned in closer.

“Then the Father’s words have already entered into your heart,” he said. “You’ve started to embrace them, whether you realized it or not.”

A strange coldness formed in her gut at his words: had she really? It didn’t seem her stance on Joseph had changed at all – her opinion of all the Seeds still remained largely the same in her head.

Well, maybe not for John. She didn’t know how to feel about him anymore, frankly; she had a terrible tendency to view the world in black and white and John Seed seemed to slip into gray areas. He had been made into the man he was by time and cruelty – while he was by no means innocent, he was still a victim of circumstance. Much like herself.

By now, she found it impossible to deny that she and John were two sides of the same coin: separated only by circumstances and a few decisions.

_I could have become just like him…_

It was a thought she didn’t like entertaining – it had plagued her mind since he’d told her about the abuse he’d suffered at the Duncan’s hands. But the more the idea resurfaced in her head, the less she tried denying it. It didn’t leave her feeling particularly good – she was still hyper aware of the kind of man John Seed was and the comparison wasn’t particularly flattering – but it was the truth…and the truth always seemed hard to swallow.

“What are you thinking about?” John’s voice sliced through her thoughts.

Bishop blinked, bringing her sight back into focus and looking up into John’s inquiring face. She hadn’t even realized she’d spaced out, let alone long enough to draw his attention to it.

“I miss my dog,” she said quickly, refusing to divulge the truth of her thoughts to him.

It wasn’t a total lie – she did miss Boomer terribly. Probably more than anyone else still topside, as terrible as that might sound. He was always by her side, looking out for her, keeping her morale up. At night when they hunkered down in an abandoned house or the room Mary May often loaned her above the Spread Eagle, Boomer was always curled up in a tight ball between her legs, head resting on her thigh. She missed his constant presence and the reassurance he gave her…she could only hope he was safe and being well taken care of by Mary May. It would break her heart to hear otherwise.

John blinked in surprise. Taking in the sudden sadness that had shadowed her face, he must have bought into her lie. Tenderly, his fingers found their way back into her dirty hair, petting her softly.

 _I put the dirty in dirty blonde at this point_ , she thought wryly to herself.

There were a great number of things she longed for: food, water, being untied, being back in the world and under the open Montana sky, feeling the sun on her face and wind in her hair…all those wants seemed to pale in comparison to the desire to have a shower and feel clean again. She was coated in blood, dirt, and sweat – she could only imagine what she looked like at this point, let alone what she was starting to smell like.

“Mmm…,” she said after a moment, closing her eyes as she fell prey to John’s fingers. “You keep that up and you’re going to put me to sleep.”

She could feel John’s eyes on her face and she let he lashes fall open to glance back.

“My mother used to do that to me when I was a little girl,” she explained. “Almost always passed out in her lap when she did.”

She tilted her head to give him a teasing smile.

“Won’t get a confession out of me if I’m sleeping.”

He extracted his hand from her hair; she tried ignore the blossoming feeling of disappointment.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to save that for another time,” he told her.

She blinked up at him in surprise – he was leaving?

“Was it something I said?” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He merely smiled at her, running a finger down her cheek.

“I have some business to attend to. I won’t be long,” he told her. “I know how eager you must be for confession but you’ll have to be patient.”

A smirk started pulling at her lips.

“Oh, the disappointment!” she said in mock distress.

She truly did feel disappointed when he didn’t respond in kind. John circled her to grab the back of her chair before giving it a sharp tug. She was startled as the chair rocked; a conditioned response to flail kicked in that she barely kept at bay as he started pulling her behind him and out the door.

She hadn’t realized that when he said he was leaving, it meant she was going somewhere too.

They entered the hallway outside and Bishop’s eyes burned in the light; it didn’t matter how dim it was, she’d been submerged in near darkness since she’d first been brought down here. She allowed herself only a few moments to keep them squeezed shut before she forced them open. The adjustment was slow but she soon could make out her surroundings even as they flew past.

There wasn’t all that much to see, frankly. John was wheeling her down a long hallway that seemed endless. Bishop forced herself to glance at every open doorway and room, looking for any sign of Hudson.

 _My god, this place is massive_ , she realized suddenly as they descended further into the sprawling infrastructure. 

She didn’t have a chance in hell trying to memorize the layout; not like it mattered, anyway. There was a higher likelihood of her dying down here than of her being able to bust out and escape. Even if she could somehow free herself, her weakness and exhaustion wouldn’t let her get very far, of that she was sure.

And there was no way she’d leave Hudson behind – she wouldn’t try anything until she knew for certain where she was.

John wheeled her past a particularly large doorway and she peered curiously inside. Bewilderment consumed her as she looked at the number of consoles and control panels lining the center of the room, the soft glow of the twinkling lights illuminating each station.

_What in the-?!_

They were taxing past it too fast for her to put much more thought into it. Before long, they came to a stop and Bishop forced herself to look over her shoulder to see what was going on. A Peggie stood not far away, instantly perking up as her saw John and trotted over faithfully. They spoke in hushed tones for a moment and she was too slow to try and listen in.  

“Be mindful of this one,” John told the Peggie sternly, his voice rising. “She’ll take advantage of any misstep you make.”

Ah, so that was it…an exchange of hands.

“Awww…now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings,” she said mockingly.

John turned and smirked at her briefly.

“I want her time down here to be uneventful,” he said to the Peggie again. “If I come back to reports of any sort of incident, I’ll be very… _disappointed_.”

Bishop felt her mouth twitch upwards into a smile. The Peggie might have been cowed by John’s threat but she couldn’t help but feel ignited by it. Give her a little bit of time and she was sure she could get them to crack.

“I’d tell you to behave yourself,” John said as he turned back to her, “But I know that would fall on deaf ears.”

She smiled sweetly at him, masquerading at innocence. He smiled back, mirth in his eyes as he reached out to her. His fingers tapped her lightly on the chin in a surprisingly fond gesture that left her looking up after him questioningly as he departed. The Peggie soon stepped up and took hold of her chair, drawing her attention away from John’s retreating form. He began to drag her further down the dark corridor and she started to hear muted shrieks and screams again. It was hard to tell if they were coming from underneath her feet or above her head; either way, it made her feel queasy.

Her Peggie caretaker wheeled her to an open doorway and brought the chair to a stop. Bishop watched as he unsheathed the knife at his side and felt her stomach lurch. He paused to call to one of his pals before starting to saw through the restraint on her hand.

If the other had been only a moment slower…she might have tried something. But he placed a hand on her shoulder and she restrained herself, focusing on the Peggie slicing through the restraints on her legs before moving up to her torso.

The rope fell away without flourish and Bishop felt a sigh of relief work its way out of her as she relished in the momentary relief of being unbound. It was short lived as either Peggie grabbed an arm and pulled her to her feet. She collapsed almost instantaneously, her legs practically jell-o; it had to have been days now since she’d stood, let alone walked, on her own two feet.

The Peggie on her right caught her before she connected with the ground, hauling her up as the one on her left picked up his slack. Together, they dragged her unceremoniously into the room, her boots skittering across the floor noisily. She tried using her feet again as she was forced along, generating some feeling in them again as she attempted hobbling between them - just in time for them to pull her towards cages lined up on either side of the room.

Bishop glanced around furtively, taking in the sight of the cages. Most were empty, save for a handful. Two close by were both occupied by women: one with auburn hair averting her gaze from them and one with black hair watching them with cold eyes. One Peggie opened an empty cage – hers, Bishop realized - and the other assisted in shoving her inside.

As she painfully lowered herself to the floor, she heard the Peggie click the lock in place on her cage, testing it in his hand before leaving. Bishop waited for his footsteps to die away before she tested the waters.

“Hudson?” she called out. “Hudson?”

It was too noisy and confusing for her voice to be safely heard by anyone other than her new “roommates”.

“HUDSON,” she yelled, letting her voice echo into the outer hall. “DEPUTY HUDSON!”

“She’s not here, Deputy,” the woman in the adjacent cage told her after a moment. “At least not on this level.”

“This level?” Bishop asked, turning to look at her with muted horror.

“There are at least two other floors in this place with people being held in cells,” Trish replied, taking note of the size of her eyes. “They’ve got almost two dozen people down here – and that’s just the ones we know about.”

Bishop’s stomach turned as she let her hands slide around the cage bars. She knew that John and his Chosen had been collecting people…but she’d severely underestimated their reach. John talked a great deal about “saving” as many souls as he could before the Collapse; it left her wondering if he didn’t intend to chase down every last person left in Holland Valley and drag them down here too.

“Deputy…,” she said after a moment, looking back to her cellmate. “You know me?”

The woman gave her a grim smile.

“You’re famous,” she told her. “Everyone knows who you are. I got taken when they first started busting down doors and pulling people out of their homes in the middle of the night, but there’s been talk of you ever since. New people brought in always mention you – hell, even the Peggies that pass through here whisper to each other about you from time to time.”

Bishop blinked at her in surprise. Yes, she’d been causing all sorts of trouble throughout the county for the Peggies – but she didn’t know her reputation preceded her in such a way.

“Well…that makes for introductions being awkward,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. “Let’s act like you don’t know me: you can call me Bishop.”

Her neighbor merely hummed in return.

“Trish,” she said after a moment.

Trish nodded towards the woman with auburn hair directly across from her cage.

“That’s Laura,” she said, “Mark was down here but they took him a while ago…guess he’s not coming back.”

Bishop followed Trish’s eyes to the far corner of the room where she could just barely make out a small form almost hidden in shadow.

“Don’t know who she is,” the black haired woman told her. “She came in with two others not too long ago. They hauled off the others and left her there.”

Her neighbor soon fell back to silence; when it became apparent she wasn’t pursuing conversation, Bishop let her eyes meander around the room. She had no idea what its original function in a bunker would have served; it was circular with an entrance and exit on either side. There were couches and end tables shoved aside to make room for the cages that had been hastily constructed and not much else.

Her mind flashed back to the memory of that control room John had wheeled her past – just what was this bunker anyway? She’d been down in her fair share of shelters traversing the breadth of Hope County while looking for people and supplies; never once had she encountered one that even remotely resembled the one she was in currently. Its enormous, sprawling structure aside, there was just something else about it that seemed peculiar…almost military, she dared to offer up.

 _What did it even matter_ , her mind supplied tiredly. _Better get used to it since it seems to be your new permanent place of residence..._

As silly as it was, that thought sent a twinge of regret through her; she’d barely even broken in her own home and now she’d never see it again. It was a small, dingy thing on the outskirts of Hope County but the rent was low and it wasn’t far from the station, making commuting a breeze. Both her home and the sheriff’s office lay on the opposite side of the Ancient Bison Tunnel – completely inaccessible now, thanks to the cult sealing off the main portion of the county. What smarted most was her motorcycle, still presumably parked outside the station, was left alone to gather dust. She’d spent a lot of time and money to get it in working shape – and now what were the chances she’d ever get to see it again, let alone ride it under the open Montana skies?

Her mood soured quickly. Trying to shake off that train of thought became easy when her ears picked up on the sound of muffled sobs. Turning her head, she followed the sound to the girl alone in the corner, still sitting with her knees drawn up tightly to her chest. Bishop watched her for a moment before speaking up.

“Hey.”

No response.

“HEY – YOU.”

The girl fell silent for a moment before lifting her head up to glance around questioningly. She took in the sight of Bishop staring at her pointedly and blinked owlishly. _Me?_

“What’s your name?” Bishop asked gently.

The girl sucked in a steadying breath and wiped at her eyes.

“Hannah,” she snuffled.

Bishop smiled encouragingly.

“Hannah, huh?” she said with a small laugh. “Well, that’s easy enough to remember. I’m Anna – Anna Bishop.”

Hannah merely peered at her from behind her folded arms, still looking a bit wary.

“How old are you, Hannah?” Bishop asked.

“15.”

Bishop felt her stomach drop. _Jesus…_

“Where’s your family?” she probed cautiously. “Are they down here too?”

A pang of guilt punched her in the gut as she watched the girl hang her head, hair curtaining her face.

“I-I don’t know,” she said shakily. “We got separated i-in the raid…”

Her voice was rising as hysteria gripped her; Bishop banged her knee on the cage bars as she shifted quickly into a better sitting position.

“Hey, hey - it’s okay!” she assuaged her hurriedly. “I’m sure they’re safe!”

It was torture to see someone so desolate and fragile and not being able to do a goddamn thing. She wanted to be able to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder or rub her back…and all she had at her disposal was her voice.

“Listen, Hannah,” she said after a moment. “Everything’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of here, okay? And you’ll be back with your family soon.”

Trish made a noise of disapproval that Bishop ignored. Her eyes were solely on the teenager slowly crawling towards the cage bars to be closer to the sound of her voice.

“You know who I am?” she asked. “I’m the Deputy who causes all sorts of trouble for these Peggies. They can’t hold me for long – we’ll all be back under the open sky in no time.”

“Do you mean that?” Hannah asked cautiously.

It didn’t escape Bishop’s notice that her tone held something new in it: a flicker of guarded hope.

“I promise,” she told her fiercely.

A bang from the cage next to hers drew her attention away from the girl. She looked at the boot that had smacked into the bars and followed the length of a long leg up into Trish’s disapproving face.

“Why did you say that?” she demanded, voice low to keep the conversation private. “You’re just building her up for disappointment.”

Bishop leveled her in a glare.

“She’s just a kid.”

_Because I was a frightened kid once too – and what I needed most was assurance._

She kept that thought to herself; once removed from John Seed’s presence, she didn’t feel the need to air all her thoughts to a room. The thought of John right now only made her blood boil, all softened feelings about him evaporating into thin air. How dare he?! How could he have his men rip some kid away from her family and drag her down into this hell hole, frightened and alone?!

 _How easily you’ve forgotten that he’s still the enemy,_ a bitter voice supplied to her.

Pulled from her thoughts by the approaching sound of footsteps, Bishop watched the doorway expectantly. A grubby looking Peggie ambled through, squinty eyed and disheveled.

 _Charming_.

She watched as he shuffled the length of the room, looking into each occupied cage to seemingly assess each of them. Making a point to glare coldly at him, she observed him try and fail to maintain eye contact before moving on and avoiding her entirely. It might have brought her immense satisfaction if she didn’t get to see him move on towards Hannah and linger outside her cage.

Red hot rage boiled inside her veins as she was forced to watch him leer at the young girl; Hannah, for her part, cowered as far back as she could, hiding her face from him.

“HEY!” Bishop snapped, drawing his attention back to her. “Leave her alone!”

He turned his gaze from Hannah to glare nastily at her and stomped over to smack at her cage bars. Refusing to flinch, Bishop held his gaze without blinking. In seconds, she watched him lose his nerve again, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. Reluctantly he trotted back out of the room, leaving the girls all alone in silence.

“Sick fuck,” Bishop spat aloud, sitting back noisily on the floor.

Glancing back towards Hannah, she felt her heart sink. The young girl hadn’t moved from where she’d crawled away in desperation – still as far away from the others as possible, knees drawn up to her chest to hide her face in. Bishop’s hands grasped the cage bars and she cursed being so close and yet so far from being able to do anything of comfort.

There was only one thing she could think to do.

 _“When you're alone, and life is making you lonely, you can always go…”_    
She waited a beat.

“ _Downtown.”_  
It wasn’t apparent if Hannah was actually listening or not. That didn’t deter Bishop in the least.

“ _When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry seems to help, I know-_ ”

She paused again, watching the young girl’s face for any sign of a reaction.  
“ _Downtown.”_

A second voice had joined in with hers softly. Bishop’s eyes found Laura across the way, now kneeling at the end of her cage closest to Hannah. Her soft hazel eyes connected with Bishop’s and she nodded encouragingly.

 _“Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city_  
 _Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty_  
 _How can you lose?_ ”

Bishop’s voice progressively grew stronger and more musical as the lyrics progressed. Laura didn’t seem to know all the words but she was mouthing along all the same. Hannah finally had looked up from her knees and was peering at Bishop through her mop of messy, golden hair.

“ _The lights are much brighter there_  
_You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares_ -”  
Trish’s voice suddenly joined in with hers. Bishop spared a glance her way; the older woman’s eyes had gained a glimmer of something that hadn’t been there before. Joy sparked like an open flame in her heart; it gave her a boost of strength she hadn’t felt since being brought down here.

“ _So go DOWNTOWN-”_

Bishop suddenly belted the words out, letting it fill the space and echo outwards.

_“Things'll be great when you're DOWNTOWN!_

_No finer place for sure, DOWNTOWN!”_

She watched as Hannah perked up, looking from her to Laura and Trish, who all joined in to chorus the crescendo together.

“ _Everything's waiting for you…_ ”

Bishop let silence settle in the room for a moment. It was subtle but there was a distinct shift in the energy amongst all the women. She took a look around, from Laura to Trish to Hannah, and saw them gazing at her expectantly.

“ _Don't hang around and let your problems surround you, there are movie shows…”_  
She waited a pause, giving the other two women nearby the chance to come together to help form a chorus.

“ _Downtown.”_

Bishop watched Hannah’s mouth form the word but couldn’t hear her voice.  
“ _Maybe you know some little places to go to where they never close…Downtown_.”  
Hannah’s voice finally rose to join theirs, a small smile forming on her face. Bishop couldn’t help mirroring the gesture.  
“ _Just listen to the rhythm of a gentle bossa nova!  
You'll be dancing with 'em too before the night is over - happy again!”_

Just as she started gearing up for the next verse, she heard the stomping footsteps coming from somewhere down the hall. Fighting down a spark of annoyance, she watched the doorway to see a shaggy haired Peggie rounding the corner, his eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of all of them.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Stop that racket!”

Bishop made a point to stare at him unblinkingly as she kept singing.  
“ _The lights are much brighter there-”_

 _“_ Enough!”

 _“-You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares_!”

“I said-!”

“- _SO GO DOWNTOWN!”_

She spared no breath in belting the lyrics out, her voice drowning out the Peggie’s protests.  
“ _WHERE ALL THE LIGHTS ARE BRIGHT! DOWNTOWN!”_

She could hear Trish and Laura joining in to scream the words with her and took a moment to quickly scan their defiant faces. A glance at Hannah in the far back to see the veiled excitement on her face was all she needed to know that it had all been worth it – no matter the consequences.

 _“WAITING FOR YOU TONIGHT –DOWNTOWN!”_  
The combination of all four of their voices completely overpowered the roar of the Peggie trying to regain control of the situation. Bishop let her voice drop back to a speaking level as she turned and sang the last words straight to Hannah.

“ _You're gonna be alright now…”_

“SILENCE!”

It was a moot point, since they’d all finished the verse. Bishop watched the Peggie fuming, glaring at each one of them in turn as he angrily preached about the value of silent reflection and prayer. His eyes stopped on Bishop and took in her insolent expression; she watched his eyes narrow hatefully.

He stormed off to the side, beyond the cages and began to dig through one of the crates by one of the couches. Bishop glanced questioningly at the radio he withdrew with in his hands. She watched with interest as he set it on one of the end tables and hit “play”. The sound of Peggie music filling the room made her groan in agony.

“Oh, fuck off,” she snapped.

The Peggie leveled her with a glare and held her gaze; he reached for the volume knob and cranked it even higher. She felt her chest puff up with indignation, teeth baring in a silent snarl.

_Fucker._

She held back any further comments as he stalked off, looking so disgustingly pleased with himself. Signaling the other girls with a finger to her lips, they all listened to the sound of his footsteps vanish beneath the blaring chorus of “Build a Castle”. She waited another half a minute or so before turning to Trish.

“Mind giving me your plate?” she asked.

Wordlessly, the older woman passed it through the bars to her. Bishop tested the metal in her hands, making sure it was sturdy enough before scooting to the edge of her cage. She took her time lining up the shot, measuring the distance to the radio with one eye shut. Allowing herself a few practice swings, she finally released with a forceful arch.

The plate sailed through the air and smacked straight into the radio’s cassette holder. It barely had time to wobble on its base before it pitched over the side and hit the ground with a “CLACK”. Silence settled back into the room for only a second before the other women all erupted in cheers. Bishop smiled ear to ear as she sat back against the bars of the cage, letting her eyes slip shut as she basked in the glow.

* * *

 

It hadn’t been too long after she’d destroyed the radio that their Peggie friend had come stomping back in, glaring around suspiciously when he could only hear the women’s idle chatter amongst themselves. Bishop had been walking hunched over in the cramped space of the cage, working her legs back into functionality. She’s watched as he’d spotted the busted electronic and the plate that slew it nearby and rounded on all of them, demanding to know who’d done it. Bishop spared no time in owning up to it, taking immense satisfaction at watching the man’s face contort and redden with rage.

He hadn’t tried punishing her right on the spot like she thought he would; instead, he bided his time. It wasn’t until he left for a while and made a return with a few of his friends that he showed his hand. Several Peggies came through with bottled water and plates of something edible – well, she supposed it was edible. They conveniently ignored her as they gave the other three women their meals.

“Penance and prayer will sustain your soul,” the ringleader had told her frostily.

She merely shrugged at him, unmoved. Her eyes were already on the other Peggie from earlier, back looming around Hannah’s cage and making her shrink into the farthest corner from him.

“Keep looking that way at her and I swear I will break your fucking face!” she snarled.

That earned her cage a loud smack from Radio Peggie, though he also frowned at his cohort in disapproval; Creeper Peggie merely glowered from a distance but shuffled out at his leader’s command. Bishop scowled after him as he left, her skin still crawling on behalf of Hannah. She leaned back against the bars of the cage as all but one Peggie filed out; the lone straggler went and patrolled the stretch of floor between the cages, watching them all under a critical eye.

“Come, my Father has blessed you! Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the creation of the world. I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat,” the Peggie parroted scripture as he stalked the length of the floor. “I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink-”

“I don’t think you speak the truth there, friend,” she said snidely.

That earned her cage a kick just inches from where she sat. She tried not to give a reaction as he scowled at her and continued back on his trek.  

“I was a stranger, and you took me into your home-”

Bishop tried desperately to block out his droning sermon; she moved her legs into a better position and attempted to get comfortable. The cage was cold and absolutely unforgiving – what delicious irony that when she was finally freed from that stupid desk chair, all she could think about was how it made for much comfier arrangements than her new setup. She let out a small scoff.

Funny how quickly your perspective could shift…

Radio Peggie filled their heads with more bible passages relating to the Project and the Father’s benevolence –so much so that it kept her gnawing hunger at bay with the nausea it created. Before leaving them again, he delivered a pointed message.

“This one,” he said as he pointed at Bishop. “Is not to have food or water. Anyone found providing her with some…”

Sweeping the room, he eyed each of the other three women with a glare.

“…will be severely punished.”

Bishop smiled cruelly at him as he turned his gaze back on her; she reached into the pocket of her flannel to withdraw her middle finger and brandished it mockingly at him. His eyes widened and narrowed in the fraction of a second; she waited for him to retaliate. Rather than respond, he merely stomped away; that in itself was a victory and she shut her eyes in satisfaction as she listened to the sound of his footsteps growing distant.

There were a few moments of total silence before she heard a pointed hiss in her direction.

“Deputy!”

Bishop blinked her eyes open and looked over her shoulder to Trish. She eyed the piece of hardtack in her hand with surprise before looking up into the older woman’s eyes. Shaking her head, she tried waving her away.

“No, you heard him,” she protested. “I don’t need you getting in trouble because of me.”

“Please,” Trish insisted with a scoff, “Just take the damn sawdust bread.”

Bishop stared in surprise a moment; slowly, a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Well, when you put it so appetizingly,” she said sarcastically.

Still, she reached a hand out and accepted the offering. Taking a bite, she choked back a cough.

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding about sawdust,” she spoke around her mouthful.

That didn’t stop her from tucking into the crappy biscuit and devouring it in seconds. Her stomach barely felt its effects and she was left with the dryness of the hardtack in her mouth to contend with, making her wonder how much it was even worth the hassle. Trish was tapping on her cage’s bars to attract her attention again as she offered up her water bottle. Bishop took it grateful, taking a long, satisfying swig.

As she was pushing her back off the cage wall and pivoting to face Trish, she got to see Laura softball pitching a piece of her own hardtack their way. It bounced on the floor just outside of Trish’s cage, who in turn scooped it up and proffered it to Bishop. She gratefully accepted it, trying to take her time in consuming it despite just how ravenous her hunger urged her to be.

“Thank you,” she spoke around the dry, crusty crumbs in her mouth; she looked between Laura and Trish gratefully. “Both of you.”

“I have some!” Hannah piped up, trying to keep her voice low and yet still be heard from her distance away.

“Keep it,” Bishop said quickly. “You need your strength.”

There was a momentary pause where she thought Hannah might protest; but she then stared at the food in her hand before tucking into it with a grimace. Bishop chuckled to herself at the sight, taking another swig of water to combat the tasteless, dry remains in her own mouth. Screwing the cap back on the bottle, she reached out painfully to Trish to hand it back. The black haired woman accepted it but her eyes went beyond Bishop’s hand.

“You’ve been spending time with John, I see,” she said.

It took Bishop a moment to realize she was staring at her exposed chest and the angry, red flesh surrounding the letters branded there.

“Yeah…,” she merely said in reply.

“Wrath, huh?” Trish continued. “Yeah, I can see it.”

Bishop leveled her with a withering stare; Trish merely smirked back. After a moment, Bishop felt herself mirror the gesture.

“That obvious?” she asked jokingly.

Trish yanked the collar of her grungy shirt down to reveal her own tattoo.

“You’re in good company.”

Nodding in agreement, Bishop let her head droop to look down at the black lettering across her chest. Forcing her aching wrists up, she set to work buttoning up her flannel.

“Strange that he left you half finished,” Trish noted, watching her work. “As far as I know, he likes to do them in one sitting.”

Trying to ignore the cocktail of emotions that information stirred up inside, she merely shrugged and made a show of looking unaffected.

“Lucky me.”

* * *

Bishop sat with her chin propped on one of the cage bars, listening as intently as she could to Laura detailing her family’s history in Hope County to her. She was a software analyst and had actually been given a job offer out in Billings that she was planning on accepting before the Peggies took over.

_What luck._

Seemed to be the collective misfortune of most of the innocents of Hope County…How cruel was fate to have them all stuck here at the cult’s mercy, with the outside world none the wiser?

She perked up as she heard footsteps approaching, waving a hand at Laura to quiet her. They listened together as several people approached from down the hall: three, by Bishop’s estimation. Radio Peggie entered first, followed by one she didn’t recognize and tailed by Creeper. Her eyes narrowed furiously at the mere sight of him, feeling cold rage brewing in the pit of her gut.

“The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness,” Radio Peggie preached. “Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance…”

 _I want you all to perish_ , she thought viciously as she was forced to listen to his bullshit.

Her eyes trained on the Creeper as he made his way towards Hannah, feeling the hair on the back of her neck rising as he did.

_Don’t you fucking dare…_

“Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord...”

Creeper grabbed the bars of Hannah’s cage; an audible yelp escaped her lips as she cowered as far away from him as she could.

_Fucking-!!!_

“Give me your plate,” Bishop demanded of Trish.

Wordlessly, Trish gave it to her. Putting her full strength into the throw, Bishop chucked it at the back of Creeper Peggie’s head. It connected with a solid “thwack!” sending him reeling.

“HEY!” Radio Peggie snarled at her, stomping over to her cage to smack at the bars angrily.

Bishop ignored him, her eyes still on the Peggie by Hannah’s cage. It took him a few moments to regain his equilibrium enough to round on her, his piggish eyes alight with rage. She held his gaze defiantly, her own eyes cold and challenging. In moments, he was rushing her cage, working at the lock.

“Brother, take a moment-” Radio Peggie tried to caution.

He was wholly ignored, Creeper Peggie’s rage so focused that reason wouldn’t work on him. His actions were careless, his thinking even more so.

 _Good_.

The lock dropped to the floor with a “clang” and Creeper Peggie was throwing open the cage door. Bishop didn’t wait for him to finish, charging the exit and throwing her shoulder into his gut; he fell to the floor with a wheeze and that was all she needed.

She followed after him, pinning his arms down with her knees as she threw a fist into his face. Blow after blow, she landed her punches into his nose and jaw, hitting where she knew it would hurt most. At her strongest, she could have laid him out with a single punch – but this was her running on little water, practically no food, and days of being tied up and immobile. It had to hurt, but he was still conscious.

As she was winding up for a solid haymaker, she felt her arm snatched from behind. She was wrenched off her victim, thrashing and fighting against the man restraining her the whole way. Several more Peggies came streaming into the room, two rushing to Creeper still on the floor and one making a beeline straight for her. He had a rifle in his hands that he used as a ram to strike her hard in the gut.

All the breath left her in a single exhale; what little food and water she had in her stomach threatened to evacuate as she wretched. It took great strength to force the bile back down her throat – she knew she couldn’t afford to lose anything. She was limp in Radio Peggie’s hold as the others helped Creeper up; he was cradling his face as he struggled to regain his footing. Bishop could barely take satisfaction in watching him whimper over his face, even as she was consumed by her own pain.

Barely.

She was being dragged away unceremoniously, one arm held by a different Peggie as they carted her out of the room. Her boots made soft screeching sounds as they scraped across the hard floor.

“We’re getting out of here!” she barked loudly to Trish, Laura, and Hannah. “Stay strong!”

Her arm got wrenched sharply in response but she didn’t care. All she could focus on was the absolute agony in her gut and the still raging urge to empty the contents of stomach all over the floor. She kept her eyes clenched shut, focusing on regulating her breathing and cycling through the pain that threatened to overwhelm her.

It was a long trek, wherever they were taking her. She had a feeling she knew where. When she felt them come to a stop and heard the clanging of a large door opening, she allowed her eyes to crack open. They dragged her into an oh-so-familiar room, the dim red lighting just as off putting as it had been in the previous time she had spent in it.

The Peggie on her right dropped his hold on her and the other took full control of her. She didn’t put up a fight, still too weak and winded from the last one. The chair being drug back down the hallway made itself known well before it was shoved back through the door, wheels rattling loudly in the confined space.

Bishop was forcefully thrust back into her seat, the chair lifting for a moment before righting itself. Agony erupted from her wrists as the Peggies set to work strapping her back down, the rope cutting back into her injured flesh unforgivingly. Her discomfort must have shown because the larger of the two made a point of pulling the rope taut. For a moment, she saw stars and swore she might pass out.

Barely keeping herself present, she panted shallowly as they tied her legs and waist back down, all tighter and crueler than before. She was able to bring herself back from the brink just in time for them to finish their work; leveling them each with a nasty glare, she chose her words very carefully.

“You think John will be happy to hear about all of this?” she asked brazenly.

She expected a response and they did not disappoint. The lighter haired one used his foot to kick at the underside of the seat, sending it tipping backwards. Bishop barely had a moment to press her chin to her chest before she connected to the ground. Her head whipped backward with the impact, sending her skull into the concrete painfully.

Luckily – or not – the pain now pulsing from her head didn’t compare to the agony from her gut. Both Peggies stepped around her, sending her parting glares as they exited the room through the open door. After their footsteps died away, she lay in silence for a few moments longer, taking stock of herself.

“Fuck,” she choked out hoarsely, cringing as she flexed her gut and pain erupted from her core.

Wouldn’t that be something – to have been given a good enough punch to rupture a spleen or kidney and to die from internal bleeding here in this unholy place? To have survived countless similar beatings as a child, only to die in solitude far from the reach of the sun? It certainly would be a cruel irony, that’s for damn sure.

Trying to focus on anything other than the pain, she let her eyes slip shut and prayed sleep would come to her sooner rather than later…

“ _Hey_!”

Bishop blinked her eyes back open, brow furrowing in confusion.  Was that addressed to her? Or had she finally cracked and she was just hearing voices?

“ _Hey! You there_?”

It took her a moment to place the speaker. The only times she’d heard him before had been when he’d been sobbing or screaming wordlessly from the next room; to finally hear words from him was shocking to say the least. She directed her gaze at the wall that served as the barrier between her and her neighbor.

“Yeah,” she called weakly after a moment, before forcing some strength into her voice. “Yeah, I’m here!”

There was a momentary lapse of silence where Bishop wondered if he hadn’t lost his nerve. Then, his hesitant voice echoed back to her again.

“ _Would you…would you sing again? Please_?”

She started in surprise. Touched beyond words, she took a moment to swallow around the thickness that settled in her mouth.

“ _Someone told me long ago ‘there’s a calm before the storm’- I know! it’s been coming for some time…_ ”

It hurt so much to sing around the pain in her gut but she forced herself to. If it was any consolation, knowing that man in the other room took comfort from her efforts to soothe his soul made her feel like dying down here couldn’t be all that bad.

* * *

 

“I leave you alone for just a little while,” John’s voice finally reached her. “And you just have to cause trouble…”

If this was an admonishment, Bishop thought dryly, his tone should probably match his words. He didn’t seem particularly upset or angry; if anything, he sounded amused.

She forced herself to a more alert state, trying to ignore the dull throbbing pain that still existed around her stomach. It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two since she’d finished performing for her neighbor next door (Mark, she had finally learned his name – the same ‘Mark’ Trish had mentioned briefly in their time together in lock up). She’d managed to drift off into uncomfortable sleep after talking a brief time with him, forced to contend with the bruising forming across her abdomen and the crying hunger pains her stomach was back to delivering.

_Back to square one…_

“What else did you expect?” she asked seriously.

John circled in front of her, his smile reflected in the gleam of his eyes.

“I had thought some company might help settle you,” he told her. “But if anything, it’s only made you more obstinate…”

He reached out and pulled her chair upright; she’d barely had time to stop her vision from spinning before he started unbuttoning her flannel, exposing the three letters branded into her chest.

“But truth be told,” he said as he examined his handiwork, fingers tracing each letter, “I’m glad you’ve still got some of that fire left in you…it’ll make your atonement so much more meaningful when you finally reach the threshold.”

“Is that so?” she asked dryly. “Or are you just glad to have me all to yourself again?”

She meant it as a joke – perhaps she should have articulated more to have made that evident. His pupils dilated before her eyes and she felt her breath catch. Her heart started thumping wildly in her chest as she took in the look he was giving her; her face felt unspeakably hot for some reason, burning under the weight of his stare.

Averting her eyes quickly, she struggled to think of something else to say to combat the sudden electricity in the air.

“Obstinate…,” she played with the word he’d just used. “Breaking out the big vocabulary there, eh, Lawyer Man? Careful, I only have my GED.”

He seemed to catch onto her teasing then, humming softly in amusement.

“Did you finish school?” he asked curiously.

“No,” she answered, trying to flip her braid back over her shoulder. “It wasn’t ever really an option for me…it was already so hard for the state to keep my records together when I was being bounced around so much. I just settled down long enough to study my ass off and then took the tests and got my diploma. Then I was out, focused on finding work to put some money in my pockets.”

“Didn’t you have higher aspirations?” John asked as he reached out and brushed her hair aside for her.

She tried desperately to ignore the way his fingers lingered on her collarbone.

“Not really. There was no way I was ever gonna be able to afford college. I guess maybe I could have tried working in a trade or something…”

A fierce rush of pride erupted from within the depths of her heart.

“But I always wanted to be a cop,” she told him truthfully. “It took me a while to get here, but it’s been my only goal for as long as I can remember. Had this dream that I’d one day become sheriff, just like my dad…”

She trailed off as she looked cynically over at him.

“Though I guess that part of the dream will stay unrealized,” she said tartly. “I don’t see myself getting any promotions anytime soon.”

 _If I ever get out of here, I_ deserve _a promotion_ , she thought sourly to herself. _Hell, we all do: Pratt, Hudson…and the Sheriff has earned a relaxing, stress free retirement…_

“What did you do when you gained independence?” John asked, quickly steering the subject back to his liking. “After foster care and before Hope County – what was in between?”

She exhaled out through her nose as she leaned back and catalogued through her memories.

“Went home for a bit. Left not too long after though…to go out into the world…”

She took a moment to clear her head before continuing, ignoring the sudden emptiness that spawned in her chest.

“Just a bunch of odd jobs for a while. Waitressing, fry cooking, dog walking– whatever was available. Traveled through some of middle America before turning around and heading back home. Finally put some of my actual talents to use.”

“‘Assault’ and ‘destruction of property’ are considered employable?” he asked wryly.

The smile that appeared on her face in response was sincere.

“Oh, so you do have a sense of humor!” she teased.

Shaking her head at the self-satisfied expression now adorning his face, Bishop tried not to feed his ego any further.

“I was a tracker,” she said with pride. “Worked for the local fish and wildlife federation, which in turn meant I worked indirectly for US Fish and Wildlife. Took care of problems affecting the local populace – tagging animals for research, killing the nuisance ones who attacked livestock and people. Got a lot of local contracts to find missing dogs, cats, horses, cows…which in turn led to being scouted by the police force in helping them locate missing persons on a few occasions.”

She shifted in the chair, wincing as the too tight restraints bit back into her injured wrists.

“I think that was a major appeal to various sheriffs’ departments when I finished up at the police academy – I got half a dozen phone calls in the first two weeks after I put out applications…”

An ironic smile pulled on her lips as she looked back into John’s face.

“Got a great number of calls and letters from one Sheriff Whitehorse…how there were an inordinately large number of missing persons in Hope County and that someone with my skills would be a most welcome addition to the force...”

She shook her head and tried not to laugh bitterly at the cruelty of hindsight.

“Oh, man…if only then I knew what I was getting into,” she said with a groan.

John hummed softly, a smile on his face as he stared at her.

“What made you accept his offer in the end?” he asked. “Certainly not the pay.”

“If I was in police work for the pay, I’d quite happily label myself an idiot,” she said sardonically.

A heavy sigh slipped from her lips.

“No, I came out to visit one day and see the county for myself…”

Her mind flashed back to that day – when she’d first ridden with Whitehorse and Hudson through the Ancient Bison Tunnel and into Henbane territory. How the water had sparkled almost magically at the base of the mountains…how green the grass and trees had been in the valley.

“I fell in love with Hope County the moment I saw it. I knew this is where I wanted to be. If there was ever a place to make a fresh start, I thought this would be the place…for it….”

The expression on John’s face had shifted in the span of a millisecond; it almost silenced her completely. There was such a sudden intensity in his eyes - why was he looking at her like that?! She felt a shiver race down her spine, her stomach aflutter under the heat of his stare. Swallowing thickly, her frantic mind searched for some way out of the situation.

“Conveniently, the Sheriff happened to leave out the very pertinent detail of the local cult causing so much trouble for the county’s residents…,” she added.

She expected to get a reaction from him with that one; he surprised her by not responding at all. He seemed to be lost in thought, so deep in his own mind…and yet, he was still staring at her unblinkingly. Her heart was pounding in her chest before she knew it, feeling both paranoia and…bizarrely, anticipation.

“Ever been in love?”

It was impossible to keep surprise from showing on her face; _that_ question threw her for a loop.

 “…What?”

“Have you ever been in love?” he repeated evenly.

Her stomach filled with a bizarre sensation: an uncharacteristic lightness she wasn’t used to feeling.

_Why was he asking her this…?_

Still, an image of soft brown eyes and a crooked smile popped into her head before she could bury it. Her heart panged at the thought of him…she hadn’t let herself dwell on him for some time.

“Maybe. Once,” she said softly, “I think…”

John strolled towards his workbench and she found herself unable to tear her gaze from him. He leaned back against it faux-casually; she could see in the rigidness in his posture and knew he was anything but relaxed.

“Tell me.”

“What does it matter?” she asked quickly, trying her damnedest to avoid this particular topic of discussion. “It’s over and done with.”

“Anna…”

God, he was really going to make her do this. She threw her head back as she tried avoiding his searing gaze.

“His name was Matthew,” she offered up uneasily.

“He still in the picture?”

“No.”

“Is he dead, then?” John asked, far too nonchalant. “This…Matthew?”

“No,” she answered. “Least, not the last time I bothered to check. That was a few years ago, who knows.”

“What happened then?”

“…I don’t…no, that’s not true, I do know,” she corrected herself. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“You’re lying,” he deciphered quickly and she could feel him boring a hole into the side of her head. “Tell me the truth.”

She’d rather not broach this subject – least of all with him. John didn’t seem to be an impartial listener to this story, not like he had been through any of their other talks. With the way he’d been acting towards her…

But then again, she knew that he would get agitated if she refused to speak. He might threaten – or worse, go through – with torturing Hudson in her stead. She swallowed down her hesitation and spoke up quietly.

“After I left Jackson County the first time, I drifted south. No real destination in mind. Just…getting by. I had an old dingy jeep that somehow managed to keep itself rolling and I used that as my home for a while. I’d pick up whatever job I could find that didn’t need education or much experience. Made a little money and then moved on to the next town and start over.”

The monotony of that life hadn’t been as terrible as the isolation had. But she hadn’t allowed herself to stop and make friends because she hadn’t really cared to. It was a stretch of time she didn’t look back upon fondly.

“It wasn’t really living. It was…existing,” she told him bluntly. “Living seems to imply you’ve got something worthwhile that keeps you going: there is some satisfaction in what you’re doing that makes the ends justify the means. I was just going through the motions, staying adrift. Keeping myself alive…really only because of survival instinct.”

Putting that into words made it sound even morbid than it had in her head. But it was the truth: she hadn’t had any reason to keep going except for a deeply ingrained desire for life that only existed at some primal level. She looked back to John and was surprised by the look on his face; she’d half-expected him to look disturbed or at the very least put off by such a statement. Nothing could have prepared her for the depth of understanding that seemed to emanate from his eyes.

“…I wound up a ways outside Denver,” she continued hurriedly, trying hard not to lose her nerve. “That’s where I met him. His car was broken down by the side of the road and I stopped to help him. We got to chatting…and it just took off from there.”

She’d never forget that sheepish smile he’d given her as she gave him some of the coolant and synthetic oil she kept on hand in the back of her car. He’d looked at her like she was some kind of celestial being, descended from the sky to help him in his time of need – a welcome change from all the pitying glances that had driven her half-mad in the short amount of time she’d spent back home.

“He was exactly what I needed. He was kind and patient and gentle. Understanding to a fault…he was all I wanted for such a long time…”

“This fling with ‘Matt’ – it ran its course? Get bored?” John cut in, sounding haughty.

“It wasn’t a fling,” she snapped back, annoyed at his tone. “I was with him for 2 years.”

There was a moment of tense silence between them but Bishop refused to feel bad for having sunk to his level. He started it.

“Long term,” he said finally. “What changed?”

She fell silent as the guilt - that always came with thinking about Matt – surfaced in her gut.

“He was ready to settle down,” she said. “Started talking about getting a house together. Getting married. Kids. Growing old together...”

“You didn’t want that? Or you didn’t want that with him?” John pressed, more demanding.

“It’s not that I didn’t want it,” she answered after a moment. “Just the thought of it…petrified me.”

It really had. She would never forget standing in the kitchen of their shared apartment, plate in hand as she stopped drying it to listen to him casually bring up house hunting together. Had barely been able to make a joke about what they’d do with that much space…then he’d made an offhand comment about a dog and mumbled something about children and she’d been frozen to the spot for an indeterminate amount of time.

“Things were moving so fast and I felt paralyzed, forced to watch it all rush by me,” she said, voice shaking. “So…I started pushing him away. But he refused to let go, kept trying to get me to talk about it…to work through it…”

He was too good for her; she’d always known that. What they had was a beautiful dream, something she’d so desperately craved for as long as she’d lived. But good things never lasted – of this she was painfully aware. She’d gone over Matt’s words for weeks afterwards and found herself only growing more fearful as time progressed.

“I’d only ever had flings or one-night stands before him,” she admitted. “It was easier that way – kept things neat and tidy, didn’t have to stay tethered down anywhere. But with him…I was finally willing to take a chance at something long term. But then he went and brought up the _long, long term…_ and suddenly I felt like I was drowning.”

Or falling, more like. Either way, everything seemed out of her control and there was little else that terrified her more than feeling powerless.

“…and so, one night…I just packed up and left,” she said quietly. “And I never went back.”

Bishop felt the weight of those words hang in the air around her. It was absolutely suffocating.

“That seems exceptionally cruel – especially coming from you,” John finally said after a long pause.

His words pierced her like a knife; had he physically stabbed her, it would have probably proved less painful. She knew he was right…had known for years after how badly she’d messed up. But she hadn’t known what else to do – she’d never been in a situation like that before. To be loved fully and unconditionally by someone who had no ulterior motive or agenda…to be treated with kindness and respect and adored for both her strengths and flaws.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt him,” she said desperately, hoping John would understand. “People I love, people I care about…they have a tendency of dying or leaving me. I was thinking of him…it was better that way. Kept him safe.”

“Kept you safe,” John added on.

She couldn’t bring herself to argue, to lie to him. They both knew it was true. She’d wanted everything Matt had to offer…but she couldn’t bring herself to embrace it. The fear alone was too much…but there was something deeper underneath that.

_You didn’t deserve him._

For once, she couldn’t bring herself to argue with the cruel voice that taunted her deep inside. No, she hadn’t deserved him. She hadn’t deserved his love or his companionship, never had…never would. She hadn’t told him all the horrible things from her past that she’d now shared with John. There was always a deep seated terror that if she ever finally worked up the courage to tell him…that he’d reject her. Matt had been wholly good…and she was not. Not even close.

Her eyes burned hot and she struggled to breathe around the sudden tightness in her chest. John had crossed the room to stand over her before she’d even realized it.

“You desire connections, and yet you push away anyone who tries to get close to you,” he said softly, intimately.

Her vision was suddenly blinded with tears. She turned her head and tried to blink them away, her jaw setting angrily. John’s hands were firm on her cheeks, turning her back to face him. She tried staring defiantly at him but felt her tears burning hot trails down her skin. Shame burned in her chest, hot and suffocating.

John’s thumbs were wiping away the tears as they fell, shushing her gently.

“You long for a family, one to call your own. People who will love you, for all your imperfections and flaws,” he spoke directly to her. “Who will protect you and cherish you.”

She tried reining back in the waterworks, inhaling sharply. John’s hands were caressing her cheeks so lovingly that she found it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.

“The Project can be your family. Accept the Father into your heart, and he will be your family.”

He pressed close; close enough that she could feel the ends of his beard tickling her chin

“ _I_ can be your family,” he said fiercely.

She sniffled, trying to find her words again.

“You’ll be my brother?” she asked, trying not to scoff.

“No.”

She was surprised by the tone of his voice then, the near aggression in it. Her eyes found his and saw the intense hunger in his gaze; it very nearly made her heart stop.

“We couldn’t be brother and sister,” he told her, eyes looking from hers down to her lips. “But we would be family.”

The implication there alone…she didn’t want to dwell on it now. She was too emotionally overloaded as it was. Sniffling softly, she shut her eyes and let the tears stream down her face. John shushed her and pressed his forehead against hers. She all but melted into his touch, starved for something – anything – to cling to.

He waited until she’d calmed herself again, when her breathing had evened out and the tears had dried upon her cheeks, before he stepped away. Bishop found herself almost protesting before she thought better of it. What was happening to her?!

She heard the soft whir of the tattoo gun’s motor kicking in and immediately felt a ripple of dread course through her veins. Steeling herself, she inhaled deeply and leaned back as far as she could, eyes on the ceiling as John returned and set to work on her chest.

Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as badly as the other times. Probably because her mind was so distracted by the agony of flexing her abdominals each time the tattoo gun nipped too sharply into her flesh. “T” was fortunately the smallest letter and went by the fastest; she was combating a wave of nausea as John finished, inspecting his work with focused eyes.

Only one letter left now…

A chuckle started in her throat that she couldn’t contain; she let it finally slip from her lips as she threw her head back. The absolute absurdity of the action didn’t even faze her at this point, too emotionally overwhelmed. John, however, peered at her in absolute bewilderment, probably wondering if he’d finally broken her.

“It just says ‘Wrat’,” she told him as she laughed again.

After a moment, she heard him laugh lightly alongside her. His hand smoothed across the plane of her cheek and she almost sighed into his touch. She looked into his eyes and took in the sight of him gazing down at her and felt her heart start to beat rapidly.

“You want to know the reason why I picked that fight?” she spoke up suddenly, trying desperately to ignore the pounding in her chest.

His hand stilled on her cheek; she watched him fight against his own curiosity for a moment before giving in, looking at her expectantly.

“You’ve got a girl down there – 15,” she started, feeling an edge enter her tone as she thought of Hannah cowering in her cage. “Alone and scared. And one of your men had been leering at her…like a piece of meat. The whole time I was down there. She’s just a child…and he’s…”

Her voice faltered with fury, finding it hard to pick the right words to properly express her anger. She didn’t need to say anymore, however; she watched the hardness enter John’s eyes and knew he understood.

“I’ll look into this,” he told her calmly, his tone a stark contrast to his gaze. “…Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

She couldn’t help throwing a half-smirk his way, feeling immense satisfaction as she relived that moment the Peggie had thrown open her cage door.

“He won’t be hard to find – I broke his nose at the very least,” she said proudly.  
Some of the coldness slipped from his face as he smiled fondly at her; a warm chuckle worked its way up from deep in his chest.

“Of course you did,” he said with amusement.

Slipping his hand up her face – she tried very hard not to inhale too sharply as he did – he buried it again in her hair, smoothing it flat against the crown of her head. Making a soft noise of approval, Bishop let her eyes slip shut and basked in the sensation. Soon, she began to feel herself drifting away; the combination of her aching body and John’s soft touch lulling her towards the threshold of sleep. She couldn’t tell if she was imagining the soft press of his lips against her forehead or not as she slipped into the comforting darkness of oblivion.

* * *

 

"When I've shown you that I just don't care  
When I'm throwing punches in the air  
When I'm broken down and I can't stand  
Would you be man enough to be my man?  
  
Lie to me  
I promise I'll believe  
Lie to me  
But please don't leave."

 

 _Strong Enough, Sheryl Crow_  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Bishop sings "Downtown" by Petula Clark with the girls, and "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" by Creedence Clearwater Revival to her neighbor.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's left kudos and comments - they mean the world to me and really make writing this so much more satisfying! I guess every writer starts off writing for themselves but it's such a supreme pleasure some you of like Anna so much!  
> I hope you've enjoyed and will keep tuning in! I have a chunk of the next chapter already written since I was writing it a bit concurrently with this one so hopefully it will be up by next week! Thanks again! <3


	6. Chapter 6

_“The Father has requested time and again for you to stop serving alcohol here.”_

_“And I’m telling you – just like I told him – this is_ my _place and I’ll serve whatever I damn well please!”_

_Bishop had been sitting silently long enough. Her fingers clenched around the glass in her hand so hard she was beginning to worry she would shatter it. She was still new to these parts, only having been on patrol for just about three weeks now; she wasn’t sure if she should go sticking her nose in everyone else’s business or not. It’s not like she was worried about her own safety – it was just some people didn’t appreciate someone else fighting their battles for them. Having no friends to speak of, making enemies off the bat made her stay her hand._

_Still, it didn’t make her any less irate to have to hear these brutes talking that way to the young woman standing her ground. Mary…something; she couldn’t remember what. Girl had backbone, she’d give her that. Aside from the cook peering out from behind the stove every so often in worry, there was no one else around to have her back. And still she glared unflinchingly at the men trying their best to intimidate her. Bishop kept her head down, looking at the unfinished omelet on her plate as she continued discreetly listening in._

_“The Project’s tenants strictly forbid the consumption of alcohol-“_

_“-Then don’t come in here-”_

_“-The mere presence of it is a temptation that cannot be tolerated-”_

_“-It’s not my problem if you animals can’t control yourselves!”_

_The shorter of the two went rigid; Bishop could see his nostrils flare even from where she sat. As he took a heavy step forward in the direction of the woman, she finally felt herself snap. Slamming her glass down noisily, she spun around on her stool to face the pair now looking her way._

_“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” she asked caustically._

_They both looked her up and down, taking in the sight of her uniform. She watched as they seemed to assess their situation carefully, the fire dimming in their eyes._

_“Not at all, Deputy,” the larger one said._

_Nudging his partner, he led the way to the exit, shuffling out single file. Bishop watched them go, eyes narrowed until she saw their truck peeling out northbound._

_“Friendly bunch,” she said sarcastically as she spun around in her stool back towards her plate of food chilling on the bar._

_“You have no idea,” the barkeeper said bitterly, arms still crossed defensively across her chest._

_Bishop felt rather than saw the woman’s gaze turn to her; she was too busy tucking into the rest of her breakfast to be bothered to return the gesture._

_“You’re the new deputy they hired, right?” the woman asked cautiously._

_“Yes, ma’am,” she answered after swallowing a mouthful._

_“You’re not from around here,” the barkeep said._

_It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. And one worded suspiciously, bordering on unfriendly._

_“No, ma’am,” Bishop replied, finally turning her gaze to the other woman. “I’m from Jackson County.”_

_Bishop watched her eyes soften slightly._

_“I always considered Hope County small town – Jackson County puts it to shame, I hear,” she said conversationally._

_Bishop gave her a nod._

_“You heard right,” she said with a half smirk, raising her glass to her lips._

_She watched as the woman unfolded her arms and worked her way around the bar. Bishop kept an eye on her even as she refocused on her meal._

_“What’s your name, Deputy?”_

_“Bishop. Anna Bishop.”_

_“Mary May Fairgrave.”_

_It took Bishop a moment to take in the hand extended out to her, sitting stupidly with her fork up to her mouth. Awkwardly, she placed it back on her plate to return the gesture, taking hold of Mary May’s hand and shaking._

_“Pleasure,” she said simply._

_Taking a moment to replay the scene from mere minutes before in her head, Bishop fixed Mary May in a stare._

_“Mind sharing what that was all about?” she asked seriously._

_Mary May’s eyes narrowed._

_“Peggie assholes,” she spat._

_“Peggie…Project at…Eden’s Gate?” Bishop struggled to remember._

_Mary May nodded harshly, arms folding back over her chest._

_“Surprised you know so little about them,” she said after a moment._

_Bishop felt her eyes narrow._

_“I’ve barely been here three weeks,” she said defensively._

_Mary May seemed startled at the coldness of her response._

_“No offense intended, Deputy,” she said. “I just meant if you haven’t encountered them all that much, it’s just a shock they haven’t come knocking on your door yet.”_

_“My door’s around the county limits,” Bishop shrugged, sipping from her water as she tried lowering her hackles. “They harass everyone like that?”_

_She found herself surprised by Mary May’s sudden laughter. Was it something she’d said?_

_“Oh, Deputy,” Mary May said after a second, smiling genuinely. “You really don’t know anything about them…that’s not a bad thing. For you, anyway.”_

_The barkeep leaned casually upon the bar to watch as Bishop pushed her plate aside. There was a noticeable shift in the energy between them; the guarded wariness of before replaced with a more open and friendly aura._

_“What I know is that they cause trouble throughout the county,” Bishop said. “We’re constantly getting calls about them and whatever they’re doing. But so few of them get handled – they’re either within the letter of the law or they get a free pass…”_

_She still didn’t understand that last part. So many of the calls she’d heard about from the others at the station ended up without resolution. How in the world were there so few arrests or citations for a group causing mayhem seemingly everywhere, every day? The calls she responded to with Hudson and Pratt almost always ended in a ticket or an arrest. But some of the other deputies…they didn’t seem to fill any sort of quota._

_“Listen to me, Deputy,” Mary May said quietly; she leaned in conspiratorially and Bishop mimicked the gesture. “Don’t trust everyone you work with. A lot of them are Peggies themselves.”_

_Bishop blinked at her in surprise._

_“Really?”_

_Mary May nodded gravely._

_“There’s a few good ones left – the Sheriff himself, Deputy Hudson-”_

_“That’s my partner,” Bishop said, feeling some relief. “I’ve shadowed a lot with Deputy Pratt too.”_

_“Pratt’s a bit of an ass,” Mary May said, “But he’s no Peggie so that raises him in my estimation.”_

_Bishop laughed silently to herself at that. Pratt didn’t bother her but she could see how he’d rub people the wrong way. She appreciated his sarcasm and humor but he was a shameless flirt and she didn’t know how long before that would become an issue; as much as she enjoyed palling around with him, getting involved with co-workers in_ that _way was not what she hoped to accomplish out here._

_“Lt. Crowder you shouldn’t trust, as well as Deputy Holbrook and Deputy Pine,” Mary May said, listing them on her fingers._

_Bishop started in surprise._

_“I don’t know a Deputy Pine,” she said, “They must already be gone. The Lieutenant put in his two week notice just the other day…Holbrook…his desk is just across the room from me…”_

_“Those are just the ones I know of,” Mary May cautioned. “Just keep your head on a swivel, ya hear?”_

_Bishop just nodded at her, still processing what she’d been told. The cook Casey spared her from remaining there slack jawed as he produced Pratt and Hudson’s orders for her, shaking the paper bag at Mary May to deliver to her. Bishop murmured a thanks as she accepted the package, digging in her pocket for her keys._

_“Don’t be a stranger, Deputy,” Mary May said as she watched Bishop rise from her seat. “We could use more friendly faces around here in Fall’s End.”_

_“If the food’s always like this,” she said, shaking the bag in her hand, “I think you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”_

_“Oh, I like this one!” she heard Casey’s muffled call from back in the kitchen._

_She and Mary May shared a smile as she turned and headed for the exit. Stepping out into the afternoon sunshine after a good meal was its own form of ecstasy; stretching and basking in the still manageable warmth of the day, she took her time in striding towards her motorcycle. She still had time before her she had to report in for work; while it was still a long drive back to the station, she felt no rush in taking off again._

_A church bell rang not far away, echoing down the empty street. Bishop listened to it curiously; while she had sworn off religion some time ago, she still knew that on a Sunday afternoon such as this one, most people should still be at church. She remembered attending services and being released around this time – the congregation all filing out to their cars to head home or go searching for brunch at the nearby diner or restaurant._

_Aside from herself and her bike, there were barely any cars on the street – and absolutely no traffic heading to or from the church at the end of the street. Curiosity spurning her, Bishop ignored her motorcycle and opted to follow the street south. The church at the end of town wasn’t all that much different from the one she’d attended as a child – small but very homey and welcoming. Still, it made her a tad uneasy to be walking up towards it, her gait faltering._

Might get struck by lightning if I try to set foot inside _, she thought only half-jokingly._

_Just as she was thinking better of her decision to come here, a man exited the front doors and stood on the steps, looking out into the sky. Bishop couldn’t help but notice how tired he seemed; the fact that she could sense that even at a distance made her feel a pulse of sympathy for him. He finally took notice of her staring, turning his eyes towards her; she watched him blink behind his glasses, looking at her curiously._

_“Deputy…I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” he said cautiously._

_“No, we haven’t,” Bishop said as she approached. “I’ve only been here a few weeks now. Deputy Anna Bishop.”_

_She watched some of his wariness dissolve into a smile as he extended his hand to her._

_“Pastor Jerome Jeffries,” he introduced himself. “Welcome to Fall’s End.”_

_Bishop glanced up and down the street again before peering at the church doors._

_“If you don’t mind me asking, Pastor,” she started gingerly, “Where is everyone?”_

_The tiredness returned to his face so quickly that she felt terrible for having asked. He sighed to himself, clutching the bible at his side tighter._

_“My congregation follows a new spiritual leader,” he said after a moment. “They’re northeast at the compound they have up there.”_

_“The Project’s place?” she asked._

_Jerome merely nodded, his gaze back out at the sky. After a long moment, he tore his gaze away from the clouds and back to her._

_“I’m sorry you have to see this place in such a sorry state,” he said._

_He seemed to regard her curiously for a moment._

_“What brings you up this way, Deputy?” he asked, eyeing the paper bag at her side. “Are you seeking spiritual guidance?”_

_Bishop tried not to cringe, her fingers curling tighter around the sack in her hand._

_“Just exploring,” she said in a half truth. “I gotta be honest with you – and I hope you don’t take offense to this – but I’m not the religious type.”_

_To her immense surprise, she watched his face break into a smile; it seemed to take away some of the heaviness from his brow._

_“It might be shocking to hear this coming from a man of God,” he told her, “But hearing that from you is a welcome relief.”_

_When she could only stare at him in open bewilderment, he could only chuckle at her reaction._

_“At least I know you’re less likely to be swayed by the Peggies.”_

_She merely nodded, slowly accepting that._

_“Mary May didn’t happen to send you this way, did she?” Jerome asked suddenly._

_“No,” Bishop answered honestly. “I was just at the Spread Eagle but I came here on my own. You two close?”_

_Jerome merely hummed in affirmation; he fell into step beside her and led the way back towards the center of town._

_“Her family has been a part of my congregation for years,” he said. “One of the few who didn’t leave to join the Project.”_

_“One of the few left with sense, then?” Bishop asked._

_That merited a true laugh from Jerome. She took some pleasure in being the cause of some of his burdens to be lifted, if only for a moment._

_“Precisely.”_

_They fell into comfortable silence as they strolled down the empty street together. Bishop took in the sight of the town and felt a ripple of unease filter through her. By all definitions, it fit a ghost town at this point. She knew small towns – she was from a small town – and this no longer qualified as a “town” at all._

_“How many people are even left around here?” she asked seriously._

_“Just in town? About eighteen,” he said gravely._

_Bishop felt her jaw go slack; she quickly moved to cover her shock. She had ascertained it was bad around here, but by God…_

_“There are still a handful who live on the outskirts,” Jerome continued. “Nick and Kim Rye at their airstrip…Grace Armstrong out west…Rae Rae and her family to the northeast…”_

_The names he listed meant little to her – she’d only heard mentions of them all in passing. She knew Rye & Sons Aviation was the only real airstrip in the county, had heard Miss Armstrong was some kind of champion sharpshooter, and that Rae Rae had some kind of farm…squashes, or something?_

_Her ignorance to the locals – especially the Peggies – only reinforced that she needed to get out more. As loathe as she was to leave the solitude of her rented place and waste gas coming out here, it seemed like her best bet of settling into comfortable living in Hope County was to get acquainted with at least a few people from outside of the department._

_This impromptu visit to Fall’s End this morning seemed to have done some good in that regard – she hoped she wasn’t being too forward in thinking she had gotten into good standing with both Mary May and Pastor Jerome. If they were two of the only remaining people not involved with the cult, it seemed like a worthwhile endeavor to stay on their good side._

_Jerome walked with her back towards her motorcycle parked a hundred feet or so away from the Spread Eagle._

_“I believe I’m going to go step in for some late breakfast,” he told her. “The smell wafting from your bag has finally beaten me down.”_

_Bishop cracked a lopsided smile at him._

_“Then I guess I should be heading back to the station to deliver brunch to my coworkers,” she said. “It was nice to meet you, Pastor.”_

_“Please – just Jerome,” he said with a smile. “Even if you’re not attending service, feel free to stop in from time to time.”_

_She nodded in agreement, waving to him as he headed for the bar. Watching him go for a moment, she turned back to her bike, storing the bag of food in one of the saddlebags off to the side. As if on cue, the radio attached to her chest clicked and came to life._

_“Hey, Rook – you still in Fall’s End? Over?” came Pratt’s voice over the line._

Wrong chess piece, _she’d told them all once before when they’d first taken to shortening ‘Rookie’ to ‘Rook’._

_The collective groan at the terrible joke still made her smile from time to time._

_“Rook, here,” she answered. “I’m heading to the station now. Over.”_

_“Holbrook wants to see about getting an order in, if you’re still by the Spread Eagle.”_

_“Tell him ‘tough shit’.”_

_Pratt laughed heartily at the other end of the line. Bishop wished she could share in his mirth but found herself thinking over Mary May’s troubling warning about Holbrook. If she was right – and she had no reason to believe her to be lying – then she’d have to be on her guard at all times now._

_Trying to shake some of the tension from her shoulders, Bishop straddled her bike and started the engine, letting the hearty roar soothe some of her anxiety. Glancing idly in front of her, she blinked in surprise as she took in the sight of a truck not too far away. It hadn’t been there when she’d left the bar earlier; it was dark, unlike the white battered pick-up the pair harassing Mary May had gotten into, and looked surprisingly pristine and new. That in itself was a shock – very few out here had very recent car models. That make had to be just a few years old…paired with the heavily tinted windows, it had to have cost a pretty penny._

_As Bishop stared at the truck and its invisible driver, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. The hair on the back of her arms and neck stood on end but she forced herself to glare challengingly at the opaque windshield, her head held high. Reaching for the sunglasses perched on the top of her head, she placed them over her eyes and stared a moment longer at the truck. She wasted no time in revving the engine on her bike, letting it growl noisily._

_As she kicked it into gear, she drove towards the truck for a ways, still keeping her stare unflinchingly on it. Only when she cut a u-turn in the street did she allow her gaze to fall from it, looking straight towards the road heading south out of town._

_She allowed herself to glance in one of her side mirrors and started when she saw the truck had pulled out behind her. It could be coincidence, she reasoned. Or…_

_Bishop glanced on either side of the road for a posted speed limit. When she could find none, she quickly revved her bike’s engine again, accelerating to a speed most likely well above the law. She was new here – she could plead ignorance._

_She looked back in her mirror to see the truck easily falling behind before disappearing entirely from view. Waiting a few moments, she eased up a little when it became evident it had no plans to try and match her speed. She tried focusing on the road ahead but found herself looking into her side mirrors every few seconds._

_There was never any sign of the truck again – nor anyone, really, as she passed over the Henbane and sped towards the Ancient Bison Tunnel and back towards the station. Still, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was being watched; the sensation followed her all the way back to work and didn’t abate once she’d delivered Hudson and Pratt their food. Holbrook was there too and noisily complained about not having anything to eat._

_Bishop ignored him and went to her desk. She waited a few minutes before discreetly casting a glance towards Holbrook’s desk. Her blood chilled as she met his gaze, and she was left wondering just how long he’d been staring at her first…_

* * *

 

Holbrook had resigned not even two months after that day. Mary May hadn’t been wrong about him; he was spotted by Bishop and Hudson as they responded to a distress call involving a group of Peggies by the border of the Whitetail Mountains and Holland Valley. He’d been at the head of the group harassing the Pewter family about their property; he hadn’t been the least bit chafed by Hudson and Bishop’s combined anger and disdain towards him and had sauntered off with his head held high.

 _“Talk to my lawyer,_ ” he’d said and brandished a business card at her as they cited him.

Hudson had snatched it from his hand and shoved it into Bishop’s chest. She’d held onto it as Holbrook and his cronies loaded into their truck and drove off; only when he’d disappeared from view and Hudson was leading them back to their patrol car had she chanced looking at it.

It had been a business card for John Seed, attorney at law.

Bishop had thought back to those two days quite a bit since the dawn of the supposed “Collapse”. How different could things have been if she had heeded the warning signs presented to her so plainly? She’d been an absolute fool brushing off the Peggies the way she did – and she was certainly paying the price for it now. If she had been smarter, a little less condescending, could she have been better prepared for everything to go south so fast?

Would she have wound up trapped in this bunker with John Seed with no end in sight?

 _Is it that terrible of a position to be in?_ her mind suggested traitorously.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t uncomfortable here - she absolutely was. She was starving, dehydrated, fatigued, black and blue all over, and just barely keeping grips on her sanity. But she knew it could be worse. She could be up in the mountains facing off with Jacob and his army; she’d heard the whispered horror stories of him breaking people down as he put them through his mysterious “training” program. Or trapped in the Henbane, tripping on Bliss that Faith poisoned the water and air with; Bishop herself hadn’t felt its toll while traipsing out there, but she couldn’t deny the soft whispers she seemed to catch just out of earshot that had her constantly looking over her shoulder.

At least with John, she felt like she had a level playing field. It helped – no matter how disconcerting it remained in the back of her mind – that she’d come to a greater understanding of why he acted the way he did and could meet him head on. Well, could have met him head on…she wasn’t doing much still tied to this godforsaken desk chair.

Besides, she had started to lose her desire to fistfight him the longer she’d been forced to remain down here. If she’d been asked a day before that capture party had waylaid her if she ever thought she could be anything close to comfortable around John Seed, she would have laughed outright. Now…well, now things were different; so remarkably different than they had been even days before.

As if on cue, familiar whistling broke through her thoughts.

_Speak of the devil…_

John strolled leisurely past her; she watched him curiously, taking in the sight of his posture and how much satisfaction he was exuding. He turned to her and she finally saw what was in his hands. A wave of nausea swept over her, on the brink of overwhelming.

“I’ve attended to the issue you brought up,” he told her, holding the flap of skin out for her to see - to read.

A bitter taste filled her mouth; she forced herself to look at the word “LUST” branded on the flesh, swallowing thickly to keep back the bile desperately trying to creep up her throat.

“I can see that,” she managed to force out eventually.

“He wasn’t inclined to tell the truth,” he said, admiring his own work. “Not at first. He was punished for that, don’t you worry.”

John walked towards the workbench and Bishop was able to force her nausea down to a manageable level. Grabbing the staple gun from his toolbox, he bolted the strip of skin parallel with “GREED”.

“I must say, I was severely disappointed in the others,” he said after a moment, back to her as he stared at the tattooed flesh. “It took some coaxing to get them to admit to what you’d already told me to be true.”

Blinking in surprise, she tried to wrap her head around his words.

“You trusted me over them?” she asked.

John finally turned back to face her, an endearing smile on his face.

“Oh, Anna,” he said, mock chiding as he strolled up to her. “You wouldn’t lie to me about something like that.”

Fighting back the urge to argue, she held her tongue as best she could as he came to stand over her.

“It’s just unfortunate none of them like you very much…enough so that they were prepared to hide the truth from me…”

A tired smile stretched across her face as she looked up into his eyes.

“I think you’d be hard pressed to find someone who hates me more than I hate myself,” she said softly.

The change in John’s face was so sudden it almost made her regret saying anything. One moment, he was so pleased and playful; the next…absolutely crestfallen. Heartbroken, even. It brought about a certain innocence – an almost boyishness – that made Bishop’s heart rend at being the cause of. She didn’t know what to say to him to make the situation better; it was the truth and she couldn’t bring herself to try and lie to him.

Her eyes looked anywhere but at him, finding the dirty floor by her boots to be of particular interest. She could feel his gaze still heavy upon her but refused to meet his eyes, trying not to drown in the awkwardness she’d managed to create by her own hand. The sound of his footsteps drawing nearer had her heart hammering in her chest but she still kept her gaze trained to the ground; only when he moved past her towards the cart to the side did she allow herself to chance a peek his way.

Her eyes locked onto his fingers as he reached for her father’s badge and she watched him silently as he studied it once more. Yet another mystery she couldn’t have explained to her past self: how she’d be alright with anyone else _ever_ touching that sacred trinket, let alone letting John Seed continually handle it. It still hurt not having it in her own hand but John seemed to treat it with a certain level of respect she couldn’t have believed possible before.

He swept his thumb across the shield, looking at it thoughtfully for a minute as she looked on quietly.

“You know,” John spoke up finally, “There was a time in my life when I was truly lost.”               

Bishop blinked in surprise, staring at him curiously as he kept his gaze on the badge in his hand.

“My parents were both dead and I was finally free. And yet, I still felt trapped…stuck with this gaping emptiness inside me.”

He turned his gaze back to her for a moment and took in her absolute concentration on him; his lips quirked upwards in the making of a smile before he turned back to the cart at her side. Placing the badge carefully back down on its surface, he took a second for himself before turning back to her.

“I tried to fill that void with whatever I could. Alcohol, drugs, sex…it didn’t matter to me, just so long as it did the job. I wanted to _feel…_ anything, really…”

Bishop could only stare, transfixed, as he laid out one of the darkest times of his life out for her. He said it so plainly…so matter of fact. Anyone else might have thought they were discussing the weather or something else mundane. But she could see the hollowness in his eyes as he relived some particularly painful memories and knew that this wasn’t an easy subject for him to dwell upon.

“And for a short amount of time, it worked. But then I’d come down from the night’s high and that emptiness was still there…”

He made a point of holding her gaze and she felt her breath catch in her throat at the sudden intensity in his eyes.

“It wasn’t really living…it was _existing_ …”

Bishop’s heart stopped as she heard the exact words she’d uttered only a day or so before brandished back at her. She could only stare into John’s eyes, at the complete understanding she saw there, and felt her heart flutter dangerously.

“And I existed that way for years, going through the motions…,” he continued. “But then…one day, while I’m working at my expensive, cushy job I get a call that there’s someone asking around about me at the front desk…”

She watched his eyes glaze over as he became lost in the memory; there was such peace and happiness in his face…it seemed to remove years from him. He looked so innocent and boyish once more and she found herself contending with that lightness in her gut that made her so uncomfortable.

“My brother, Joseph…had spent countless years looking for me. And he’d finally found me again.”

There was such warmth and pride in his tone; not for the first time, Bishop realized just how much Joseph actually meant to John. She’d never understand the bond between siblings, being an only child herself, but she knew enough to realize that whatever John and Joseph shared was fairly profound. To be the epicenter upon which John’s world revolved around…he might as well be his God.

“Joseph showed me just how wrong I was to hide myself away from the world, to conceal my true self,” he said as he came closer, placing his hands on top of hers. “That you can never be truly happy so long as you do.”

The more he spoke, the more she understood he wasn’t doing this for his own benefit. He was hitting on points too close for comfort and she felt her gut twist with newfound nerves, waiting to see just where he was taking this.

“He taught me that money, a cushioned job, and all the material comforts in the world don’t guarantee happiness. You must have love,” he told her in hushed tones, like he was sharing some kind of guarded secret. “You must give love to those around you…”

He reached his fingers out to touch her chin gently, tipping her face up ever so slightly to look into his eyes.

“And you must open your heart to receive love for yourself,” he told her pointedly.

Bishop felt her throat constrict. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, no matter how much she wanted to. He was touching her so tenderly, so intimately…

She shook her head out of his grasp, snapping back to her senses.

“Don’t,” she insisted, even as she avoided his gaze. “Please, just don’t.”

“Why?” he pressed, fingers gliding softly up and down her cheek; she couldn’t contain the shivers it caused her. “Why do you feel you’re not worthy? How can you feel so undeserving of affection?”

Her teeth ground together.

“You don’t know everything about me – what I’m really capable of,” she said stiffly.

He smiled fondly at her.

“I think I know plenty of what you’re capable of,” he said gently, brushing some of her loose bangs behind her ear.

She shook her head violently, trying to shy away from his touch. He was being too generous, too affectionate…it made her feel ill, knowing he saw something in her that he thought merited such tenderness. Her eyes locked with his and held.

“No,” she insisted darkly, “You really don’t.”

His eyes alit with open curiosity. Letting his fingers slowly withdraw from her face, he looked to her patiently. Waiting silently for her to proceed…

Bishop felt her mouth turn to ashes, all the moisture evaporating at once with a combination of fear and nerves. This…this would be the last story she had to share with him. There was probably plenty more insignificant memories and stories she could pick her brain for…but there was only one that truly mattered. The one she’d been avoiding the entire time she’d been stuck down here talking with him.

“I wasn’t lying before,” she admitted, “When I said I was saving the worst offense for last.”

She didn’t know where to start. Well, she did…but speaking of it was sacrilegious in its own way. She’d taken a vow of silence that she’d maintained over the years – a promise to herself to carry this particular secret to the grave. John Seed had kept his promise in cracking her, to make her spill forth every last sin for him to pass judgment upon. And as fucked up as it was, she found he was the only person she could ever willingly tell this to. He might be the only one who would ever understand.

“The man who killed my parents…his name was Louis Draven. He was put away with a 34 year sentence,” she finally stated quietly, calmly. “They assured me he’d never get out.”

Her lips twitched, struggling between a snarl and an ironic smile.

“The judicial system…is flawed.”

She gave him a serious look.

“You were a lawyer - you of all people must know this to be true.”

Her eyes glazed over as she tried remembering exactly what it was they told her that day…when Shaw and a handful of his deputies cornered her at her job at the movie store and asked her to seat herself for the grave news they were there to deliver.

“Some stupid, fucking technicality…was all it took. All those promises of him rotting in prison for the rest of his life were suddenly empty words when he was back out on the streets…A free man.”

It wasn’t hard to place herself back in her younger self’s shoes. She had stood there for the longest time, not really hearing the rest of what the police force had said to her, eyes wide and unseeing. The man who had overturned her entire life in a single day was getting another shot in the world…while her parents were still buried in the cemetery only miles from where she had been standing.

“…I was 18. I had finally been freed from foster care and I returned home just about as soon as I could. I was back in town just trying to restart my life when I heard the news. Everyone rushing to console me, to talk me out of doing something stupid…”

She did smile then, a cruel, hollow expression marring her face.

“Well, he did something stupid first. Shot up a convenience store and stole money from the register. Injured the clerk, crashed his stolen car, shot a responding cop, got shot in return and fled on foot. Probably just another Friday night for him...”

Not even out of prison for a week and he’d already rung up a list of suspected crimes before finally being caught red-handed at that corner store. She felt her eye twitch as she worked to control the rage that welled up inside her at the thought of it; he hadn’t felt remorse for what he’d done and clearly didn’t learn a thing in his time locked away behind bars. That thought alone was enough to almost derail her story entirely.

“He fled from police,” she said after a moment. “And just happened to run past the gas station I was filling my car at and we ended up face to face. He pulled a gun on me and I pulled mine and shot him down before he could shoot me.”

She shrugged in an effort at nonchalance that failed miserably; her shoulders were too stiff with anger and tension to make it look anything close to believable.

“Self-defense, everyone agreed. He had a gun and threatened me and I killed him to save my own life. Just luck that it settled the score between me and him at the same time…”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at the floor, gaze unseeing. She could feel a wave of emptiness passing over her, sweeping away almost all emotions she’d been fighting just moments before.

“Some luck…,” she all but whispered.

The silence that settled for a few heartbeats was thick and unbearable. Bishop shut her eyes and let herself breathe, trying to maintain some semblance of control. It was a long wait that she felt almost certain John would interrupt to try and make her start talking again. To his credit, he remained entirely silent; she could feel his heavy gaze still on her and knew he was waiting patiently for her continue at her own discretion.

“At the time, I was staying at Deputy Shaw’s for an indefinite stay. He would have let me stay permanently but I just needed a place to stay until I could get my feet back under me…,” she continued finally. “He had the police radio set up there in his study. I just happened to be in that room when the calls started coming in, telling me just what Louis was up to. Where he was going…”

She’d been sitting there, looking over job ads aimlessly as she waited for Shaw to get off shift when the radio had crackled to life. It was such a small town that the force didn’t even bother to identify Louis as “suspect” – they kept radioing in with “Draven’s at it again”, “Draven’s downed an officer”, “Draven’s taken off on 3rd Street, headed west”. She’d sat there, utterly frozen, and forced herself to listen; it’d taken only a minute before she was able to drag herself out of her stupor and really started listening to what they were saying.

“I grabbed my gun, jumped in the car, and put my foot on the gas. Drove 4 miles up the road, stopped at the nearest gas station and got out on foot. I cornered him at the old tire store just a block away, all alone.”

He hadn’t been hard to follow. As if the crashed car on the side of the road hadn’t been a dead giveaway, she could still easily track his trail of blood through the dark, even when only aided by the dim street lights and distant winking stars.

“He wasn’t armed when I found him,” she stated simply. “He’d dropped his gun on the way in. It was just lying there in the street. And he was just sitting there, shot and bleeding…not looking all that inconvenienced by anything.”

The image she’d had in his head for so many years had been of that fateful day when he’d gunned down her mother and father in the street: a dark and powerful figure advancing with absolute menace. Finally meeting him face to face after so long and having him lying bloodied and tired in a dirty, abandoned store did more than just shatter the image of the boogeyman she’d made him out to be: it’d made him finally seem human.

“I asked him if he knew who I was,” she said and felt the rage return in a swell so strong it almost overtook her.

She shut her eyes and cycled through her breathing, willing her vision to lose its red edges.

“He didn’t. Not at first,” she continued. “I reminded him of the reason he’d been put behind bars. Then, he knew….”

She turned her gaze back to John, watching her rapt and silent as the grave.

“And he just smiled at me,” she ground out. “Bastard starting laughing in my face. I showed him my gun, pointed it straight at him. And all he did was laugh some more and ask if I was there to avenge Mommy and Daddy. ‘Now was my chance’, he was just gonna ‘sit here a while longer’…He didn’t think I was serious.”

Having him not recognize her had been its own form of humiliation. She’d spent so long with the image of him burned in her brain, haunting both her nightmares and waking moments...and he’d never so much as spared her a second thought. Never thought of all the damage he’d done to her in the course of a single day that then transcended to years of abuse and heartbreak and loneliness. It made the whole encounter seem surreal; she’d stared at him with the most potent and unstable wrath and hatred of her entire life as he’d merely laughed her off.  

“I shot him once through the arm. I meant to get him in the chest but my hands were shaking so much, I couldn’t aim straight. Maybe it was better that way, just to see the surprise in his face when I shot him that first time. And he finally knew I was serious.”

Everything had gone from disorienting to sharp, crystal clarity after that first shot. It had shocked them both; she’d recovered quicker and got to take in the look of absolute astonishment on his face as he stared from the fresh bullet buried in his bicep and back to her. He hadn’t even had the decency to look scared.

“I didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. I shot him in the neck. Shot him again 3 times in the chest. Then once more in the gut.”

It was a moment torn between order and chaos, balanced so delicately on a knife’s edge. She’d never felt more in a position of power…and at the same time, had never felt so totally out of control.

“I kept pulling the trigger until the chamber was empty. And even then, I was still pulling it…looking for more bullets to plug into him.”

Bishop felt her shoulders tremble ever so slightly, remembering the quiet that followed the barrage of gunfire; how the ringing had died down in her ears and was replaced by the soft “click” of an empty weapon as she’d been unable to stop pulling the trigger. Over and over and over… until she’d finally regained some semblance of sense and could lower her weapon. And then she’d just stared at the corpse before her, his lifeless eyes still wide open with surprise.

“I’ve never told anyone this before,” she admitted quietly. “Deputy Shaw always suspected. When he showed up, he just had this look in his eye. He knew. But he never asked…never tried to get me to confess. He just put me in the car and took me back to his home.”

That drive home had been such a strange affair. Shaw had acted so tense and skittish around her, as if he expected her to break down at any given moment - maybe even readied himself to hear a confession. And she had merely sat with her cheek pressed against the window’s ice cold glass, staring at the lines of the road as they zipped past…as she had on so many other previous drives to his house from the town’s center.

“There were plenty of holes in my story,” she admitted after several moments. “What was I doing so far from that gas station? What was I doing out so late getting gas anyway? Why did I run towards the danger, instead of away?”

She shook her head slowly.

“It just proved no one really cared. He was scum and no one was gonna miss him. Case closed.”

Her eyes gained a hard gleam as she looked back at John.

“But it was still murder. I killed him in cold blood.”

A hollow smile pulled her lips upward, the gesture not reaching her eyes. She looked into his face for any sign of what he was thinking, of what the newfound knowledge she had presented him with had done to the…whatever it was that existed between them now. The tangible, electricity that seemed to hang between them whenever their gazes lingered too long, whenever he touched her too gently...whatever that was.

But John’s face was entirely dispassionate and she was unable to glean anything from him. He was the Inquisitor once more and she wouldn’t be able to reach him until he was ready to pass judgment.

“I suppose the murder itself wasn’t the greatest sin,” she said quietly a moment later, finally dredging up the thought that plagued her mind almost every night since that fateful day. “It’s the fact that I’ve never regretted it…Never felt remorse.”

She made sure to look John in the eyes.

“…And I never will...”

She was staring at him defiantly, daring him to condemn her.

“He stole _everything_ from me. My family, my childhood, my innocence…It was only fair that I finally took something from him.”

The fact that his life was what he had to forfeit in return was only fitting.

“I had this thought that killing him would finally set me free. Would _cleanse_ me,” she brandished the word mockingly. “Give me closure. Avenge my parents. Reclaim what had been lost all those years ago…But they were still dead…And I was still angry.”

All at once, bitterness and anguish resurfaced within her, nearly drowning her. She had to fight just to keep it at bay, if only for a little bit longer.

“And that anger has never gone away…it’s all I have left…”

“Anna…”

“I’ve never deserved to be called a hero,” she cut John off, speaking over him quickly. “I’ve never claimed to be a good person, even if I try to do good. Because no matter how much I try, I can never escape from what I’ve done. What I really am deep down.”

John tried reaching out to touch her face but she shook herself away from his grasp. She couldn’t let him stop her, not now – not when she was so close to exposing that harsh and bitter truth she had denied for so long.

“You’re right – I am full of sin,” she told him fiercely. “I _am_ Wrath. Because if I don’t have my anger…I’m nothing…”

A terrible coldness filled her gut, making her feel emptier than she had in such a long time.

“Underneath all the rage…is nothing…”

She hadn’t realized she’d started to sob until she was too choked up to speak. It was a struggle to breathe around the tightness in her throat; as she fought for any semblance of control, she felt John’s hands on either side of her face, keeping her contained as he pressed his forehead to hers. He shushed her gently as he thumbed at the fresh tears leaking from her eyes.

“It’s alright now,” he told her quietly.

“No, it’s not! Don’t-!” she managed to force out, struggling to breathe around the words. “Don’t be understanding! Condemn me!!! Tell me I’m-”

He raised a hand to the top of her head and threaded his fingers through her hair, hushing her softly. The rest of her protests died as she melted into his touch; the floodgates were opened and she let herself cry - really cry - for the first time in years. It didn’t matter that it was practically in the embrace of her enemy…because he didn’t really feel like an enemy anymore. They were on absolute polar sides of a conflict, yes, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Not like she had before.

She cried and cried until the tears dried up and she was left taking in shuddering breaths. John stayed with her the whole time, softly petting her hair and cheek; only when her breathing evened out and she was able to return to silence did he pull away ever so slightly, but only to tuck her head under his chin as he held her face a while longer.

Bishop felt such profound emptiness as she stared listlessly off into space…and yet, there was a growing calm spreading outwards from somewhere in her chest. Something akin to catharsis had just taken place but she was far too removed from her senses to appreciate the weight and surprise of such liberation. All she could focus on was the warmth of John’s head against hers and the feeling of his fingers stroking her hair.

The sudden scraping of the door being forced open behind her had her stiffening in John’s grasp. Before she had a chance to recover her senses, she could feel him staring over her head at the intruder and felt his muscles shift as he made silent gestures that had them closing the door once more without saying a word. It was enough of a jolt to kick her from her reverie, feeling chafed by being seen by anyone other than John in such a state; god, she felt practically intoxicated by his presence and proximity…it was like being doused with cold water whenever someone else entered the scene and snapped her out of it.

John tried to return to stroking her head but she pulled away insistently, even as some selfish, traitorous voice from within protested it heatedly. He let her draw away, his fingers sliding from her hair down to her face as he looked searchingly into her eyes.

“Well…we done here?” she asked calmly, voice steady as a rock. “I don’t have anything else to follow up with.”

John’s lips turned up into a smile as he shook his head slowly at her show of bravado; her smooth transition back to practiced apathy after her total breakdown had him torn between amusement and mild disapproval. His thumbs smoothed across her cheeks and she closed her eyes and tried her hardest not to lean into his touch.

“Almost,” he finally said after a pause, letting his hands slide away from her agonizingly slow.

Bishop tried to cover her disappointment as he stepped back from her entirely, all the while trying to rein herself back in. She was just beginning to return to a sense of normalcy, her mind filling with mortification at her meltdown, as John’s tattoo gun fired up with a whirr. Her eyes snapped to him as he fiddled with the instrument and realized with a jolt that this was the end.

Shutting her eyes and leaning back as far as she could, she didn’t dare look at him the whole time as he set to work on the “H’. Her teeth grit as she dealt with the uncomfortable sting of the needle on her flesh but her mind battled with a greater discomfort, making the pain seem tame compared to previous sessions.

The gun purred silent as he finished and a heavy silence settled between them. John was focused on her chest, inspecting his work; Bishop’s gaze fell to take in the sight as well, looking at each individual letter before soaking in the collective word as bravely as she could.

WRATH

Even if it was true – it _was_ her sin – it didn’t make it any easier to stomach seeing it there, bold and angry across her chest. John’s eyes finally lifted to hers and she stared back as evenly as she could.

“Sin must be exposed so it may be absolved,” he said quietly. “Your sin has been laid bare and you may now be freed from its burden.”

Bishop couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh, shaking her head slightly.

“Cutting it off just makes it ‘go away’?” she asked incredulously.

His hand reached out to brush her cheek tenderly and in an instant all her skepticism was replaced with warmth, shutting her eyes and leaning into his touch.

“Nothing ever is truly gone,” he told her. “We’ll be tempted by sin every day for the rest of our lives – the very sin that marks your skin. But we know our sin, our enemy, and can face it with conviction through all the tasks and tribulations that God puts before us.”

He stared pointedly into her eyes.

“You just have to say ‘Yes.’”

Her eyes slipped shut as she drew in a deep, steadying breath. When her lashes forced themselves open a moment later, she found she could hold his gaze despite how much her tired body was trembling.

“Yes.”

John’s eyes filled with such pride and warmth that she couldn’t help but feel butterflies form in her stomach. When his forehead pressed back down to hers, she leaned into it, brushing the tip of her nose against his unintentionally. She felt his intake of breath and found herself unable to breathe for fear of breaking whatever moment she had created. Her eyes opened to find him staring at her, impossibly blue irises meeting her mismatched ones; after a moment, he merely smiled and tilted her head down to pressed his lips to her forehead. It was such a gentle action but it seared, warmth spreading from it and seeping into her skin.

As he pulled back to look at her, she couldn’t tear her eyes from him…even as the door squealed open once more from behind. John’s eyes left her to gaze at the intruder over her shoulder; all at once, the tenderness dropped from his face, replaced with a sharp delight that made whatever warmth he’d just bestowed upon her disappear with a sudden chill. John stood back up to his full height and walked around Bishop’s chair and out through the open door. Confusion barely had time to settle before her ears picked up on muffled thrashing sounds in the distance, slowly getting closer. She turned about, trying to look over her shoulder for the source and felt her blood run cold at what she saw. John was coming through first, looking unnaturally pleased with himself as he tugged along…

“Hudson…,” Bishop rasped, too low to be heard.

Hudson was fighting with every ounce of strength she had, screaming against her gag and yanking at every restraint. Her eyes were closed in the effort, making it impossible for her to see Bishop there before her. John took hold of the duct tape silencing Hudson and ripped it off with flourish; Bishop flinched even before Hudson was able to make her pain known, crying out wildly.

Her partner’s gaze was absolutely livid, wild hate and anger running rampant behind her eyes as she snarled up at John. Bishop could only stare in silence, eyes wide and horrified. Hudson finally took notice of her presence in the room and quickly turned her searing gaze on her. Her partner’s eyes connected with hers and she lost some of her fire, replaced with shock.

“Deputy Hudson,” John said, practically sing-song. “You remember Deputy Bishop?”

Bishop watched the horror creep into Hudson’s eyes as she took in the sight of the angry red skin surrounding the scrawl across her chest. She tried valiantly to hold a brave face but could feel her efforts failing horribly, her fear and dismay too overwhelming to safely contain.

“Anna and I have been very busy, Hudson,” John said as he walked behind Bishop and leaned over her.

She couldn’t contain the gasp of pain that tore from her throat as he ran his fingers over his handiwork, lingering on the “H” far too long.

“We’ve made such progress,” he told Hudson gleefully. “Anna has come that much closer to atonement.”

 _You sick bastard…_ Bishop couldn’t help but rage internally.

Any lingering softness she’d felt towards him vanished in an instant. Why had she thought him capable of anything like mercy? He’d tricked her into believing he could show compassion or humanity – just because he could relate to a shared sense of pain and endured torment did not mean he wasn’t still just as adept at spreading misery and agony of his own.

Everything he was doing now wasn’t to punish or brutalize her. No, it was solely meant for Hudson. He was performing for her alone now, making Bishop his unwilling assistant in his sick display.  His fingers trailed up from her chest to stroke gently at her throat and her teeth set in a snarl as she fought the traitorous part inside her that still thrilled at the touch.

“Now all that’s left is for you to do the same,” John said to Hudson. “Let yourself be purged of your sin…just say ‘Yes’.”

“Fuck you!” Hudson spat viciously. “Fucking psycho!”

Bishop felt a surge of admiration and pride race through her veins - _there_ was her partner. The Hudson who never took any shit from anybody, the woman with the indomitable will and iron resolve…thank god they hadn’t taken that from her during all her time trapped down here.

It heartened Bishop…for a moment. Until she felt John’s fingers curl dangerously against her skin and knew he was far from pleased. Her pulse skyrocketed as she looked to Hudson with dread; John stepped away from her and she felt her eyes lock onto him, pupils dilating as he advanced on Hudson. He stood over her, posture radiating menace and Bishop found she could barely breathe.

Hudson’s eyes had widened momentarily before she narrowed them challengingly at John; but it didn’t fool any of them. Bishop knew, as well as John did, that Hudson was just putting on a brave face; it made her heart start hammering painfully in her chest as paranoia started seizing her.

“Stop,” she insisted, jostling the chair arms as she fought her restraints, “Stop this.”

John ignored her, his eyes still on Hudson.

“Solitary confinement should inspire penance and self-reflection,” he noted darkly. “And yet you seem to have learned nothing each time I have you brought forth…”

“There’s nothing _to_ learn, asshole!” Hudson insisted viciously. “You’re out of your fucking mind – you and your whole fucking family!”

Bishop could only watch on as John clapped a hand down on Hudson’s shoulder, drawing a sound of distress out of her. There was blood on Hudson’s shirt that Bishop could only just now see, below John’s fingers as he squeezed down; her partner grit her teeth to avoid letting out a cry of pain.

“No, there’s still _so much_ left for you to learn,” John said, voice barely changing inflection as Hudson writhed under his grasp. “You must confess, Hudson, in order to reach atonement and join us in Eden.”

He loomed over her threateningly.

“You wouldn’t want Anna and I to leave you behind, would you?”

“Stop!” Bishop snapped again, regaining her voice upon being dragged back into the narrative.

“I wouldn’t want to go anywhere with you, dickhead,” Hudson snarled back. “It couldn’t possibly be paradise-”

John’s thumb pressed deep into the area of dried blood on her shirt and Hudson’s words quickly morphed into a howl of pain. Her head was thrown back as she screamed, the sounds making every hair on Bishop’s arms and neck rise in response. Nothing could ever prepare her for seeing Hudson in such a state and it sent a burst of energy flowing through her body.

“STOP IT! STOP!” She screamed, thrashing against her restraints. “STOP!”

Her wrists ached and protested as she yanked against the rope, sending it further into the open flesh. Perspiration made her skin slick and even more uncomfortable but still she persisted, throwing what little strength and energy she had left into the struggle. The chair skittered back and forth beneath her for a time before wobbling with the throes of the fight. There was a sick sense of déjà vu as it finally toppled too far to one side and she was sent crashing into the cold hard floor below, shoulder catching most of the impact.

“And here I thought confession would be easier in the presence of your partner _– your protégé_ ,” John taunted Hudson cruelly as he took a step back and she was able to pant for breath. “And yet you’ve only managed to upset everyone here.”

He grasped Hudson’s wrists in an iron grasp, squeezing the arms of her chair as he leaned in close. She recoiled as far as she could.

“Your sin is so clearly Pride,” he told her. “Your arrogance and vanity comes at the cost of everyone around you, and still you can’t be bothered to care.”

He cast a glance to Bishop on the floor; Hudson’s gaze followed his.

“Deputy Bishop sacrificed once for you already,” he said, turning and holding her gaze; she fell silent as she deciphered his look with dread. “And now it seems she’ll have to again…”

“No,” Hudson rasped out, the whites of her eyes enormous; she locked gazes with Anna and held, her horror transparent. “No, please-“

John went to the door and yanked it open, gesturing for someone on the outside. Hudson kept her eyes on Bishop, sprawled out on the floor.

“Rook, I’m sorry,” she kept repeating. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hudson-,” Bishop tried to answer, only to have John speak over them both.

“Take Deputy Hudson back to her room,” he instructed the burly cultist who stomped into the room behind him.  
“Hudson, say goodbye to ‘Rook’,” John smiled at her insincerely. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing her again any time soon. Deputy Bishop, you’re more than welcome to thank Hudson for giving us more time together.”

“NO!” Hudson screamed. “DON’T YOU TOUCH HER! DON’T TOUCH HER!”

Bishop felt tears pooling in her eyes as Hudson was wheeled backwards out of the room, howling curses and pleas the whole way out. When her voice was just a distant echo, she allowed herself to turn her gaze away and focus on the heavy feeling at the pit of her stomach and feebly tried to will it away.

“That was my mistake,” John said after a moment as he knelt down slowly beside her. “I had hoped Hudson might be more agreeable in your presence. But she insists on being difficult.”

His fingers on her chin turned her eyes back to him. She stared with as much heat as she could muster, still numbed by Hudson’s departure and the shame of him seeing her cry once more. His thumb swept at the moisture at the corner of her eyes.  
“There, there,” he spoke gently. “I won’t let her upset you like that again.”

 _She upset me???_  
“You lied to me!” she snarled. “ _You lied_! You gave me your word! You gave me your word you’d leave her alone!!!”

“I didn’t lie,” he insisted, holding her face even as she tried jerking out of his grasp. “Shh, shh, shh! Listen.”

She fixed him in a glare through her watery eyes.

“I didn’t lie,” he said again, sounding so earnest. “I told you I wouldn’t make her confess _until_ you’d reached atonement.”

His thumbs stroked her cheeks and despite her anger, she felt herself warming to his touch.

“Anna,” he said, voice barely withholding his excitement, “You’re ready.”

She could only stare back in silence. Ready…ready for what? Having her sin flayed from her chest – that much she knew to expect. But what came after? Where did they go from there? She was no Peggie, no matter what John said about her slowly accepting the word of Joseph into her heart. There was no way in hell she’d ever serve the cult on the surface or down here in the bunker…what kind of place could John possibly think existed for her within the Project?

“I don’t understand,” she voiced her confusion aloud. “What happens moving forward? I’m not…I won’t turn on the Resistance. My loyalty is to them.”

She stared into John’s eyes and could find no anger or condemnation there…just raw hunger and…something else that had her heart doing somersaults between her ribs. It almost made her afraid to voice her next question.

“What purpose could I possibly have?”

He leaned in impossibly close and she found herself trembling like a leaf as the tips of their noses brushed.

“Oh, Anna,” he said softly. “Your place is right here, with me. By my side…always.”

For a moment, she couldn’t even process what had been said. Then, all at once, the implications hit her with the force of a speeding truck and she found herself unable to breathe. Her lips parted wordlessly, unable to consider a single coherent thing to say in reply. It was suddenly hard to think around the impossible loudness of her heartbeat in her ears.

“I never thought anyone besides Joseph would ever truly understand…,” he all but whispered, his voice hush with excitement.

His thumbs stroked her cheeks so tenderly she could only shiver in response.

“But here you are!” he said in awe. “God has given you to me! Every pain you suffered, everything I endured – it was all so we could be here together in this moment!”

Fate…Was it really destiny to be here with John Seed, trapped in some dirty, terrifying doomsday bunker awaiting the supposed end of the world?

 _If there really is a God_ , Bishop thought deliriously, _he’s really got it fucking out for me._

But she really couldn’t put much energy into feeling sorry for herself or arguing with John’s line of thinking. For some unfathomable reason…no, it wasn’t really all that profound. Her feelings for John had changed and such a proclamation couldn’t make her cringe or recoil any longer.

“There are no secrets between us, our souls have been laid bare,” he said after a moment, taking in the rapid fire emotions flitting across her face. “Don’t you see? This was meant to be.”

He believed in what he said wholeheartedly – she could see it in his eyes, in the way he was gazing down at her now. And it made her want to believe it too…desperately. It would make her crisis of conscience far less severe if she could blame her attraction and draw to him on something as easy as “fate”.

She could feel something in her face soften and saw John’s gaze take notice of it as well. His eyes softened and he leaned in so close he must have been able to hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest as his lips claimed hers.

The first kiss was electric – something sparkled and crackled within her, stealing her breath away. _Oh._

His lips were impossibly soft…how could someone like him, who brought such pain and misery to others, have a mouth so warm and inviting? It took her a few moments to realize she had started kissing him back, her brain too swept up in the moment to properly process anything.  He tasted warm and heady and she found herself intoxicated by him.

Her hands longed to reach up and bury themselves in his hair but they remained tethered to the chair arms; she was left flexing her fingers in want, making soft sounds as he claimed her mouth over and over…

After what felt like an eternity he forced himself to pull away, but only far enough to draw breath; they both panted together, noses brushing. Every single nerve was frayed and she could only look up at him through glazed eyes. The sound of someone stomping up to the open door behind them broke the spell but neither tore their gaze from the other. John stood and righted her chair; she barely felt affected by the motion, still too light-headed from just moments before. His hands were back on her face before she even had a chance to recover.

“When I return,” he said, voice low and tantalizing, “your Atonement will be at hand.”

His thumb brushed against her lips and she couldn’t help but part them slightly against his touch. She watched his pupils dilate at the gesture.

“And then…you’ll see,” he promised fiercely.

* * *

 

Bishop’s head drooped over her chest, seemingly too heavy to keep upright any longer. John had been gone for some time now, leaving her alone with her tumultuous thoughts and the lingering taste of him on her lips. She’d tried her hardest not to dwell on it after the fact, desperately looking for something - _anything_ – else to think on.

It was nigh impossible. Her brain seemed obsessed with it, replaying it over and over again for well over an hour after he’d gone. But then time had dragged by slowly and John still hadn’t returned…and she felt herself start to fall prey to her failing body. Food and water seemed like something she’d only dreamed about having days before; her head pounded from dehydration and starvation, leaving her delirious. She couldn’t be certain how much of her stomach pain was from hunger and how much was from the blow she’d taken from that rifle butt – they seemed too intertwined now to separate.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried focusing on anything other than the agony of her headache, trying to wet her lips. Big mistake – she instantly remembered John’s mouth on hers and began to tumble back down _that_ rabbit hole. Letting her chin fall to her chest, her skin ached as she brushed too closely to the freshly branded “H”; she shifted her focus to the pain and felt another knot of unease form in her gut. There would be a very different reason to be feeling agony across her chest in a short while, she knew, and it left her feeling sick.

As much as she didn’t appreciate her tattoo, she would much rather keep it than have it sliced off…

The door behind her ground open slowly, squealing on its hinges. Bishop felt a rush of terror wash over her; she was wholly unprepared for “Atonement”…and even less so for seeing John face-to-face after their last encounter.

“Dep!” a voice hissed at her from afar.

 _When did I start to dream?_ She wondered hazily, confused at the familiarity of the tone speaking to her. _That sounds like…but that’s impossible…_

“Deputy!” the voice came again, closer this time.

She forced her eyes open, blinking owlishly at the floor before she could make her neck move her head up enough to look.

“Oh Jesus,” came another voice, blocking the harsh light of the lamp on her left.

Bishop squinted at the figures before her, not believing her eyes for a second.

 _I’ve finally gone insane_ , she thought weakly as both Sharky Boshaw and Nick Rye stood before her.

* * *

 

 

"I took her home to my place,

Watching every move on her face;  
  
She said, 'Look, what's your game?  
Are you trying to put me to shame?'  
  
I said 'Slow, don't go so fast, don't you think that love can last?'  
  
She said, 'Love? Lord above!  
Now you're trying to trick me in love.'  
  
All right now, baby, it's a-all right now.  
All right now, baby, it's a-all right now."

 

_ All Right Now, Free _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the delay - life has a way of throwing a wrench in the works, but it all turned out okay!  
> I can't thank everyone enough for all the comments and kudos <3 it definitely meant so much when I wasn't feeling 100% and made me want to keep pushing through to complete this chapter! On the bright side, i also wrote a good chunk of the next chapter concurrently with this one so I hope it will be up much faster!


	7. Chapter 7

Bishop stared and stared and stared…blinking her eyes over and over as she tried to will the mirages in front of her away.

“Dep, it’s me!” Sharky insisted, giving her a light shake.

It helped a little, bringing her mind back into focus.

“S...Sharky?” she said slowly. “Nick…?”

“Time to go, Dep,” Sharky said excitedly, shushed quickly by Nick.

“Go…?” she asked stupidly.

“We’re busting you out of here,” Sharky said, lower this time. “Rescue squad!”

She knew what they were saying but it was still taking impossibly long to process. Before she knew it, her bloodied, raw wrists were cut free from their binds. As Sharky worked on freeing her legs, Nick gingerly pushed her hair off of her chest.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said again, wincing as he looked at the angry, bleeding skin around the letters carved into her chest. “Oh, Deputy…you look like hell.”

“My ink not looking fly?” she managed to croak out. “I’ll have to sue the artist. He said he’d done hundreds before mine…”

Nick cracked a small smile.

“Can’t be feeling too terrible if you still have some bad jokes left in you,” he said wryly.

Sharky finished sawing off the ropes binding her waist and she was finally free to stretch and move about for the first time in days. Had it been days? Time really had no meaning anymore…regardless, she was so sore and fatigued she could barely even bring herself to test her newfound freedom.

“Can you stand?” Nick asked warily. “Can you walk?”  
“I…I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

She tried to push out of the chair and collapsed back into herself instead. Her wrists were on fire and recoiling from the action made the pain in her gut that much worse. Sharky wrapped an arm around her waist to help her up and she leaned heavily on him as she tried to stand.  
She very nearly sank straight to the floor, her muscles the consistency of jell-o. Sharky had a decent grasp and kept her from plummeting to her knees; he wrapped her arm around his shoulders and hoisted her upright, his shotgun coming to rest at her hip as he held her close.

“We set?’ Nick asked Sharky. “Then let’s move!”

“Hudson…,” Bishop managed to rasp out, trying desperately to remember all the important things. “Deputy Hudson is-“

“We know,” Nick shushed her, “The others are looking for her. Right now, we gotta focus on getting _you_ outta here.”

“Don’t leave the guy next door…,” Bishop slurred. “Help him…”

Nick took point as they exited the room, rifle held chest high as he checked to see if the coast was clear.

“Alright, let’s go!” he insisted.

Sharky dragged Bishop along, her whole weight supported on his one side; she wished she didn’t have to be such a burden but her legs absolutely refused to work just yet. They waited outside as Nick rushed in to check on Mark; Sharky kept glancing quickly up and down either side of the hallway, alert and tense while Bishop could barely keep her eyes open. Her mind was still furiously attempting to keep up with everything that was happening _– how on earth was this happening again_?! How did they get in here?! How would they all get out?!

The more she tried thinking on it, the more it made her feel ill; she attempted to clear her mind, focusing on the feeling of Sharky’s warmth at her side as Nick and an unfamiliar man exited the room together. He looked weak as he leaned against the wall to brace himself, but he was standing on his own two feet – which was more than Bishop could say for herself.

“Mark?” Bishop asked weakly, connecting eyes with him. “Nice to place the name with a face.”

“Deputy!” he said, face breaking into a wild grin. “I can’t believe this is real! We’re finally getting out of here!”

 _Don’t be so sure,_ she thought darkly, worry eating away at the bottom of her stomach. _Anything and everything can go wrong…_

She tried masking that doubt with a forced smile. Nick turned back to Mark after making certain no one was coming to check on either prisoner.

“Can you shoot?” he asked him pointedly.

Mark merely nodded. Nick reached into his waistband for a pistol tucked out of sight before putting it in Mark’s hand.

“Make each one count,” he merely said as he turned to Sharky and gave a nod.

Nick took the lead, Sharky and Bishop the middle, and Mark bringing up the rear; their unit was packed close together and jumping at every creak from the floor and clanging from floors above or below. Bishop could barely keep track of just where they were going, much like she had the other day when John had wheeled her down to be transferred with the other prisoners. How in the hell could anyway find their way back out of this maze?!

 _How the fuck are we getting out of here?_ Her mind kept repeating, still too stupefied by the appearance of Sharky and Nick to focus on much else.

It didn’t seem real – none of it. If she wasn’t astutely aware of Sharky’s arm around her and the jostling of his gait making her stomach muscles clench and cry out in protest, she could have sworn this was all a very elaborate and cruel dream.

Distant gunfire startled Bishop, jolting her to a better state of awareness. Sharky tensed against her, wielding his shotgun singlehandedly as they progressed single file through the widening corridor. She watched as both he and Nick tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps; Nick dropped to a knee and took aim as they all waited with bated breath.

Two people emerged from around the corner…but even at first glance they were clearly not Peggies. Nick lowered his gun as he stood back up, trotting over to talk to them. Bishop squinted and found she could identify Jeff Mitchell and Connie Beaufort; a wave of relief washed over her, realizing if they were still safe and sound then Adelaide and Grace’s mission with them had been successful. They had to be safe too…they just _had_ to be.

“Deputy!”

Sharky turned so she didn’t have to; they looked together as four more Resistance fighters trotted their way, shepherding three familiar faces with them.

“Hannah!” Bishop said, her heart swelling with happiness. “Trish, Laura…”

Trish’s face remained as impassive as ever but her eyes positively shined with excitement. Laura and Hannah both were equal parts overjoyed and terrified.

“I can’t believe this is happening!” Hannah said excitedly, running up to her side.

“Hey, I said we were getting out of here, didn’t I?” Bishop said, forcing strength into her voice as she smiled cheekily at the younger girl.

Hannah smiled in turn, though a moment later she let the expression fall from her face in concern.

“Did they hurt you…?” she asked, cringing as she looked at the finished tattoo gleaming across her exposed chest. “After they took you away, did they- was it my fault…?”

“Hey – nothing was ever your fault, understand?” Bishop cut in fiercely. “These people are nuts. What they do all amounts to their own craziness, not anything you did. Got that?”

Hannah nodded slowly but she seemed placated and it relieved Bishop to no end. Nick was suddenly entering the semi-circle they’d formed around Sharky and speaking hushed instructions.

“Everyone stay tight – no lagging behind!” he rattled off. “Keep everything fast and neat. It’s gonna get ugly before we reach the surface. Everyone who can use a gun, be ready.”

Bishop’s head lolled against Sharky’s shoulder but she still turned to speak to him.

“You got a gun for me or not?”

“I did…,” he said cautiously. “But no offense, Dep…you don’t look like you’re doing so hot.”

“What gave that away?” she asked dryly as she watched a Resistance fighter place a gun into Hannah’s shaking hands.

“Let’s move, people!” Nick called from his place at the head of the group.

They scurried along like a pack of rats, eyes and ears open for danger. There was muted gunfire from both below and above and Bishop realized that their infiltration force had been detected by now. It wasn’t particularly shocking, then, that as they emerged into an open corridor a swarm of Peggies came flowing out of one of the side rooms.

“SINNERS!” the howl rose up from amongst their ranks as the Peggies opened fire.

Bishop swayed with Sharky as he dropped his stance and took cover. The gunfire erupting from the Resistance was deafening in her ears, the shells and slugs raining down upon the concrete floor sounding like hail falling from the sky. 

“SHARKY,” she tried shouting as loudly as she could.

He only spared her a moment’s glance; she took that second to hold his gaze.

“Drop me.”

There was no time to prepare herself as she plummeted to the floor ungracefully, landing in a heap at everyone’s feet. Hands were grabbing her by the arms and dragging her out of the way as Sharky joined the fray, his shotgun booming as he unloaded on the Peggies before them. Bishop looked at the face pressed up against her shoulder, peering fearfully around the barricade they’d forced her behind; Hannah was trembling like a leaf, the gun clutched in her hand rattling noisily even as she tried to hold it steady.

On her other side, Trish was poised confidently, the revolver in her hand firing off noisily as she took aim. Laura was busy staunching the bleeding of a bullet wound to Mark’s bicep, tearing pieces of her sleeve off to serve as bandaging. Bishop could only look around, dazed, as she tried to piece together everything that was happening far too quickly.

 _They’re holding the line…,_ she realized vaguely. _But something’s not right…_

There wasn’t a real effort to try and force the intruders back the way they came, deeper into the bunker. Why wouldn’t they try and pin them? Unless…

Bishop forced her gaze to their group’s exposed back just in time to see the first string of Peggies attempting to flank them. The very first face she saw was broken and bruised, their broken nose very poorly bandaged; across their chest was a flayed portion of skin, right around where John liked to brand his victims.

Hannah let out a noise of distress as she recognized the lurking, lumbering figure; that was all it took to snap Bishop’s mind back into some semblance of clarity. Creeper Peggie had a moment to see Hannah before looking at Bishop and recognizing her. His blackened eyes had widened as far as his bruising would let them but before he could even think to look angry, Bishop reached over and snatched the pistol out of Hannah’s grasp. She fired a single shot into Creeper’s chest, not trusting her aim for a headshot; he managed to look alarmed for a single moment before he collapsed forwards onto himself.

As Bishop fired at the Peggies charging from behind Creeper’s immobile body, Trish and others finally thought to turn round and help, halting the ambush before it got traction. Hannah covered her ears and clung to Bishop; when she found her pistol empty, she tried draping an arm over the younger girl as they waited anxiously for the others to push back.

A shotgun made easy work of the remaining stragglers; Sharky levelled three men in a span of 5 seconds. He poked his head round the doorway the Peggies had funneled out of before trotting back to Bishop, still heavily propped up against a crate.

“Watch your six,” she said wryly.

“That’s why we have you around, Dep!” Sharky smiled at her momentarily before eyeing her state and letting his brow furrow. “You’re not gonna be able to walk out of here, are you?”

“No, Sharky,” she answered simply, “I don’t believe I can.”  

Sharky crouched down to grab her arm and loop it over his shoulders again. Nick was racing back to check on them as they stood back up together.

“We gotta keep moving!” he insisted. “Things are getting hot!”

“Not trying to be a downer,” Bishop told him flatly. “But I’m the one slowing people down back here…”

Nick’s brow furrowed in distress. Sharky spared him from coming up with anything to say in response as he passed Bishop’s limp body over to him.

“Hang on,” Sharky said. “I need both arms.”

He squatted down in front of them, prepped to catch her.

“Wrap your arms around me, Dep,” he said. “I gotcha.”

Bishop tried, winding her arms tightly around his neck as Sharky looped his arms under her legs. He lifted her almost effortlessly and she had to take hold of her wrist to keep her arms locked. Trying to ignore the pain that burst from her raw and open skin, she let her head rest heavily on Sharky’s shoulder, closing her eyes. God was she tired…

The jostling of Sharky’s legs pumping beneath the both of them kept her tethered to consciousness, try as her brain might to shut down entirely. Bishop gave herself a minute to recuperate before forcing her eyes open again, looking around to take in her surroundings. Nick and several others were still ahead, guns up and ready; behind, Hannah, Laura, and Trish all lingered close to Sharky, glancing around for signs of Peggies. Mark was at the rear with Jeff and Connie, keeping an eye on their retreat.

Sounds of gunfire were only coming from above now, but it seemed far off in the distance…like they were hearing it through a buffer. The only nearby commotion was a shouting match taking place up ahead, bottlenecking the progression of their group as they all filed to a stop.

“We have to keep moving-”

“I am _not leaving_ until I know she’s here!”

Bishop forced her head up as she heard her partner’s angry voice reverberating across the hallway. She didn’t have to look for her; a moment later, Hudson was shoving her way through Nick and the others to lock eyes with Bishop.

“Rook!” she exclaimed, almost barreling into Sharky as she grabbed for Bishop.

“Hey, partner,” Bishop replied weakly, trying to smile.

“Jesus, Rook,” she said, eyes welling with anguish. “What did that motherfucker do to you?!”

“Deputies, let’s save this for afterwards!” Nick cut in.

“I got her! Don’t worry!” Sharky assured Hudson as she tried relieving him of Bishop.

They ascended up a flight of stairs, the journey perilous on account of the sheer number of bodies trying to stay as close as humanly possible and tripping on each other and the steps. Bishop felt smothered by the number of bodies pressed against her but tried to keep her focus on them: on Hannah’s hand gripping her shirt, or the constant pressure of Hudson’s fingers on her elbow. It helped maintain her brain’s hold on consciousness.

The only thing better for helping keep her awake seemed to be the crescendo of gunfire and screaming they were rapidly approaching. It grew progressively louder, funneling through a single point; it became evident why as they reached the top of the stairs and warm night air blew through the single door that served as their exit.

There were Resistance fighters everywhere, plugging the doorway to keep it from being rushed by the Peggie forces dug in outside. Machine gun fire was nearly deafening as they all drew closer, an LMG mounted and discharging rapid fire into the dimly lit fenced in area just outside the concrete walls surrounding them.

One fighter acknowledged their approach and screamed to his compatriot on the LMG; they set to work dismantling its rig and moving aside as Jeff and others lobbed grenades out into the open. Half of them were frags, rocking the very ground beneath their feet; the other half were smokes, sputtering open with loud gasps and filling the air an opaque gray. Nick lead the charge out into the fog, keeping low and hugging the wall as they streamed out of the bunker and under the open night sky.

The temperature was warm and fairly stifling, but Bishop wanted to revel in it; she was so certain she’d never be back on the surface again and now here she was, a stuffy breeze whipping through her dirty hair and across her cheeks. Sharky clutched her tighter as he followed behind Nick and Connie, Hudson at his side and Hannah and the others following behind like a line of baby ducklings.

There were bullets ricocheting off the slab of concrete off to their side, coming dangerously close to grazing the tops of their heads. A scream ripped from someone not too far behind Bishop and she felt her stomach fill with dread. _This wasn’t gonna work, they were all gonna die here…_

Sharky emerged into clear air and Bishop only had a moment to blink her vision back into focus before they were sprinting full tilt off the dirt road directly ahead and towards the tree line.

 _Smart. If we can make it to the woods, it’ll be harder to keep track of targets,_ she realized dimly.

Hannah’s hand was ripped from her shirt and Bishop tried spinning her head around as fast as she could to look for her. There were Resistance fighters surrounding her, Trish, and Laura, shepherding them towards the east. Hannah’s eyes connected with Bishop’s once more before she was forced to follow the rest of the pack down the hillside.  

Bishop didn’t get a chance to yell an assurance to her or turn to Sharky and demand to know where they were being taken. They were suddenly forced to take cover as an assault rifle riddled the ground in front of them with gunfire.

“The Deputy!” she heard an angry snarl ripping through the air. “They have the Deputy!!!”

There was suddenly a heavy volley of bullets diverted in their direction. Sharky nearly flattened himself on his belly to keep Bishop out of the line of fire; Nick and Hudson both scrambled for cover nearby.

“They’re pinning us down!” Nick yelled as he returned blind fire.

 _All cause of me…,_ Bishop realized weakly.

“Nick,” she murmured, “If you have to…just go on without-“

“Shut up!” he snapped, not unkindly. “We are NOT leaving you.”

Sniper fire broke through the tree line, taking out the Peggie making so much noise. As he collapsed over the railing, Nick whistled to himself.

“Thank Christ for Grace,” he said as another shot rang out through the night.

Nick waved Hudson and Sharky onward as he poked his head out to fire back at the guards trying to hold their ground by the bunker door. Sharky handed Hudson his shotgun as he clutched Bishop tighter and took off running; Hudson was close on his heels, shuffling backwards as she covered their retreat.

Bullets pinged off the trees nearby but they became steadily lighter as they trotted down the hill. The ground was rocked by an explosion that nearly sent Hudson tumbling face first into the dirt; another soon followed seconds later, raining dirt and rock down upon them even at a distance. Bishop felt Sharky’s laughter reverberate through her chest.

“Hurk’s got ‘em on the ropes now!” he said.

“What…about the…others?” she insisted, trying to put strength into her voice.

“Don’t worry ‘bout them, Dep!” he replied. “The cavalry’s here!”

As if on cue, his words were almost drowned out by the whooshing of helicopter blades overhead. Bishop could only catch a glimpse of the bird as it ascended up the hill, machine guns firing into action as it entered the fray. Her eyes were soon drawn to the blinding lights just in front of them and the sound of screeching brakes.

“Come on, this way!” Sharky shouted as he picked his way down the hill.

A green SUV was cutting a k-turn to reverse up the hill towards them; it came to a halt as Sharky hollered at the driver. Bishop could barely keep track of everything was happening, feeling the edges of her vision growing dark. Hudson was throwing the back door open and reaching for Bishop as Sharky eased her off his back; together, they loaded Bishop in the backseat, lying sandwiched between them.

Through her squinted eyes, she could see Nick slide into the passenger seat, yelling for the driver to gun it. The carriage of the vehicle felt like it somersaulted beneath them as they tore a path down the hill’s incline, weaving through trees and deer as they put the bunker somewhere behind them. Gunfire became distant echoes as they tore off, the tires growling as they were forced through unforgiving terrain. Bishop felt everything growing distant, even Hudson’s voice from just behind her, as her eyes finally slipped shut and she drifted into welcoming, quiet darkness.

* * *

 

_The smell of Hoppe’s No.9 permeated the house._

_Her mother consistently complained how pungent it was; it was indeed strong, Anna couldn’t argue against that. But to her, it was a reassuring scent – almost comforting. For whenever it reached her nose, she knew that her father was not far away._

_He was seated at the kitchen table, service revolver laid out before him, carefully deconstructed. Anna watched him clean each individual piece as she sat on the couch, entranced but leery. As if sensing her eyes on him, her father looked up to see her peeking at him from the adjacent room. Lips quirking up into a smile, he beckoned to her quietly; she was on her feet and at his side in moments._

_Wrinkling her nose at how strong the odor was up close, Anna scrutinized each piece of the sidearm as her father picked them back up and reassembled them. She stared at it for a moment before he turned his gaze from his sidearm to her; she looked back, tilting her head ever so slightly._

_“Did he die?” she asked him curiously. “That man you shot?”_

_Her father’s smile evaporated; in its place, a supreme heaviness seemed to fall upon him, aging him before her eyes._

_“Yes. Yes he did,” he answered quietly after a moment._

_She took note of his mood and felt her heart ache for him._

_“He was a bad guy, wasn’t he?” she prodded._

_Her father merely sighed as he placed his gun back on the table, leaning back in his chair._

_“He did bad things, yes,” he answered a moment later._

_That answer didn’t make her feel any better; clearly it didn’t sit well with him either._

_“Do you wish you hadn’t?” she asked._

_“I wish there had been another way,” he said, rubbing his eyes before reaching for his glass of scotch and draining the rest of it in a single gulp._

_When he turned to look back at Anna, his eyes held more resolve._

_“But he wasn’t going to stop. And he would have hurt more innocent people – people like you and your mother,” her father explained. “I couldn’t let that happen.”_

_Anna blinked at him, nodding slowly in understanding. Her father stared at her a moment before opening his arms to her and beckoning her to him. She went to him without hesitation, letting him pull her up into his lap; her arms snaked around his neck as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. They sat quietly for a moment and Anna rested her head on his shoulder._

_“You have to protect the things you love,” her father spoke up suddenly._

_Anna lifted her head to gaze questioningly into his eyes. There was a flush across his cheeks she hadn’t noticed before that must have come from his drink; he looked down at her with sad eyes._

_“You and your mother…nothing is more important to me than your safety,” he told her. “Someday…you might have a family of your own and you’ll understand.”_

_He reached out to pet her hair softly, smiling fondly._

_“I pray for that for you every day,” he said softly, like he was sharing a secret. “That you’ll find love and be content to the end of your days.”_

_She smiled in return at her father._

_“What kind of person do you see me with?” she asked curiously._

_Her father pondered that for a moment._

_“Someone a bit like yourself,” he told her. “But not too similar – that can be just as bad as finding someone your complete opposite.”_

_“But you and mom aren’t very similar,” Anna pointed out, “And you get along fine.”_

_Her father grinned cheekily at her._

_“Yeah, but I’ve always liked take-charge women and your mama is the bossiest woman I’ve ever met,” he whispered, looking around to be sure his wife wasn’t within earshot._

_Anna giggled at him as he cast furtive glances down the hallway towards the master bedroom where her mother was presumably still showering and readying herself for bed._

_“But your mom is also one of the most caring and generous people I’ve ever met,” he told her after a minute, still speaking softly. “She’s equal parts hard and soft. You need to find a good balance in someone.”_

_He looked at her a minute before cracking another lopsided smile._

_“You’re so much like her,” he said. “But you have some of me too. You’re a split between the two of us, and already better than both of us for it.”_

_Anna couldn’t hide her surprise at such a statement._

_“But you and mom are both great,” she protested._

_Her father rubbed his eyes with one hand before reaching for his scotch glass._

_“But you’re better,” he said, frowning at his glass when he realized it was empty. “And you’re destined for great things.”_

_Turning back to her, he looked her over before his eyes crinkled with his smile._

_“I can’t wait to see the things you do,” he told her, finally slurring his speech a bit. “And whomever you find to call your own, they’re gonna be the luckiest person alive.”_

_Quickly, his smile morphed into a frown._

_“I just hope you never have to sacrifice for your love,” he added quietly._

_“What does that mean?” Anna asked after a moment when he showed no signs of continuing._

_“You know how your mom’s parents and her sister don’t talk to us?” he asked wearily; she merely nodded silently. “They don’t approve of me and you…and your mom was forced to pick between her family and us a long time ago.”_

_Shoving the scotch glass across the table, he let his fingers tap idly on the table top next to his gun._

_“Luckily, she chose me and we got married and had you,” he said. “But it really hurt your mom being forced into that spot. I never want that for you.”_

_He rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment, face scrunching with displeasure._

_“Your family…your friends…May you never have to pick between them and the things you want most,” he said, a bit too loudly._

_Anna didn’t know how to respond to that – or if she was even expected to. She maintained her silence, watching her father rub his face before looking back to her through his fingers._

_“But you have a good head on your shoulders,” he said, regaining a small smile. “And a good, loving heart. I don’t think you could ever pick wrong.”_

_Anna looked into her father’s face, taking in his tired eyes and the red in his cheeks and felt her heart ache for him. She placed her cheek on his shoulder and cuddled in to him; after a moment, he wrapped his other arm around her in a tight embrace and held her closer._

_“I love you, Daddy,” she told him gently._

_“I love you, Annie girl,” he replied in turn._

_They sat there in silence for a few minutes, just comforting one another. Tears suddenly burned trails down her cheeks; she was startled by their appearance as she reached up and touched her face to feel them. They just kept flowing, a seemingly endless stream of water down her face…_

* * *

 

Bishop blinked her eyes open groggily, trying to avoid the tongue washing all over her face. There was a high pitched whining in her ears that she realized was coming from the creature assaulting her.

“Boomer!” she rasped hoarsely, finding it hard not to smile as he practically drowned her in kisses.

His tail audibly thumped on the hard ground beneath them, filling the otherwise quiet space with the sound. He was practically crushing her in his haste to cover every square inch of her in kisses and she felt her gut whine in protest as the bruised muscles clenched. Reaching up to control him, she felt a stabbing pain in her arm and voiced an “ouch” aloud.

“Down, boy!” she heard Sharky’s voice break through the silence as he noisily stomped into the room. “Get gone, go on!”

“It’s fine,” Bishop insisted, trying to peer around Boomer for any indication as to where they were.

Sharky pulled Boomer back by his makeshift collar, earning a whine from the dog; Bishop looked around the room with fresh eyes and blinked in surprise. It was the space above the Spread Eagle she often stayed in – a converted storage nook with a lumpy mattress and lamp set out on the floor for her to utilize whenever she swung through town. Only now there were multiple sleeping bags and blankets scattered around, making Bishop realize more people had come to hunker down in Fall’s End in her absence.

Her eyes connected with the sight of Hudson propped up against the wall just off to her left; her partner was asleep, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath. For the first time in forever, she looked peaceful and Bishop felt herself smile at the sight. Still, it was far too surreal to accept as reality for a minute.

“How did we do it?” she asked aloud. “How did we escape?”

“Wasn’t easy, let me tell ya!” Sharky said as he still struggled with Boomer. “God, this dog is a pain-!”

Boomer barked shrilly as he fought Sharky’s grip, the noise echoing in the confined space. Bishop cringed as it pierced her eardrums and she saw Hudson rouse out of the corner of her eye. Sharky hushed Boomer hurriedly, looking towards the window frantically.

“Hey, hey! Shut up!” he insisted as Boomer continued to bark. “You’re gonna-!”

“Just let him go,” Bishop insisted, reaching out her good arm to him.

Reluctantly, Sharky released him and Boomer wasted no time in slamming himself into Bishop. A wheeze escaped her lips in the half second she had to breathe before his tongue was covering her face again. She moved her face out of his reach to press her nose into the soft fur at his neck, inhaling his musky odor sharply. Warmth blossomed in her chest as she took in the soothing, familiar scent.

God, how she had missed her dog…

“Rook!” Hudson said as she got up and scrambled over to her side. “How you feelin’?”

“I’ve been better,” she replied through Boomer’s fur before lifting her head to look at her.

The truth was she already felt a lot better than she had down in the bunker. It made no sense until Boomer’s paw pushed her right arm at the junction of her elbow and she hissed in pain. Her eyes shot down to the sight of a needle buried deep in her flesh, taped securely to her bare arm. Hudson shooed Boomer to the side gently as she checked on the IV herself; Bishop followed the sight of her hands to the saline drip hanging only a foot or so away.

“I hate IVs,” she muttered conversationally as Boomer settled at her side, placing his head in her lap.

“Start drinking on your own and we can work on taking it out,” Hudson said sternly. “You really should be in a hospital with the level of dehydration you had…but we have to make do.”

Bishop didn’t miss the bitterness in her tone and could practically feel the anger radiating off Hudson in waves. She couldn’t blame her in the least – this whole situation was still so fucked up. They’d been on their own for so long now; how had no one come to check on Hope County?! Granted, they were in the middle of nowhere and largely secluded from the rest of Montana, let alone the rest of the country…but a federal marshal had been abducted, and no one had come looking for him yet?!

Trying not to think about Burke, Bishop looked at Hudson as she changed the drip for a fresh, full bag of fluids.

“I can’t believe I’m here with you now,” she said truthfully. “I didn’t think we were ever getting out of there.”

Hudson turned to look at her slowly, her face suddenly very tired.

“I didn’t either…,” she admitted. “It was a one in a million chance.”

Bishop looked over at Sharky, standing quietly and awkwardly off to the side.

“How?” she questioned him simply.

“Nick knows it better than me,” he replied as he scratched the back of his neck. “But there was some kind of defector who was able to get us in. He knew just where security would be and when it would be relaxed and we had a small window of time that we jumped on. We slipped in, snagged you, and slipped right back out! Well…maybe not slipped back out…there was a hell of a firefight there-”

The memories were coming back slowly now as she cycled through her brain for what she could remember of their frantic escape. She remembered the barrage of gunfire as they exited the bunker, the explosions, the confusion…but all she could recall of their getaway was Sharky and Hudson loading her into the back of an SUV and booking it.

“Where are the others?” she demanded suddenly, feeling her heart begin to race. “What happened to them, are they-”

Hudson beat Sharky to stepping in making sure Bishop didn’t try and stand; she placed a firm hand on her shoulder and kept her pinned to the floor.

“Not so fast, Rook,” she said. “Park it.”

Reluctantly, Bishop obeyed; though the truth of the matter was she was still so weak she didn’t think she could have made it to her feet on her own anyway.

“Mostly, everyone’s okay,” Sharky told her a moment later. “Nick’s still downstairs-”

Bishop let her eyes slip shut as she breathed a sigh of relief; she forced them open a second later as she catalogued through the list of names in her head.

“What about Hannah? And Trish and Laura? Mark?” she said forcefully.

“Whoa, whoa – slow your roll!” Sharky insisted, hands up; he visibly thought for a minute. “The girls…they all got loaded in the convoy headed for the Henbane. Mark’s the skinny dude? He’s still here in Fall’s End…”

Wave upon wave of relief washed over Bishop and she shut her eyes again as she basked in the bliss of knowing her friends were safe.

“We did lose some folks,” Sharky said cautiously after a moment, watching her face carefully for her response. “Two got shot down…three are missing…”

All at once, the warmth evaporated from Bishop’s chest, leaving her feeling ice cold dread in its place. Her eyes snapped open to stare at Sharky in alarm.

“Missing?!” she insisted incredulously.

“Well…,” Sharky said slowly, clearly stalling. “They never regrouped after the escape. No one really saw them exit the bunker before the doors got closed…it’s just…kinda assumed…”

Bishop could only stare in absolute horror, her stomach turning and leaving her feeling ill.

“They got trapped down there,” she all but whispered.

Hudson slammed her fist into the wall, her teeth gritted in a snarl.       

“It’s why we shouldn’t have left without blowing the place sky high!” she snapped. “They’re either dead or in the Peggies’ hands down there!”

She left “I don’t know what’s worse” unsaid…but Bishop could feel the thought hanging heavily between them.

“Hey, they knew the risks!” Sharky insisted. “We all did – we went in on a wing and a prayer and managed to save as many people as we could! That’s something to celebrate!”

Hudson’s eyes narrowed and Bishop was prepared to step in before she could turn her aggression on Sharky but she was spared from speaking when a loud gunshot broke through the silence of the night.

Bishop froze, feeling adrenaline shoot through her veins at the sound. That was rifle fire – she could never mistake it for anything else. And just as quickly, more shots echoed through the air in response; suddenly there was nothing but gunfire in her ears.

“What’s happening?!” she exclaimed, holding onto Boomer tightly as he growled and whined in distress.

Sharky ignored her, snagging his shotgun from where it sat propped up against the wall; he gripped it tightly as he inched towards the window, crouched just out of sight. His body was coiled and ready, as if he expected someone to come swinging through the second story and through the glass at any moment.

“Where’s my gun?” she demanded as she started shoving Boomer off her lap. “My rifle or my pistol, where’s-”

“Sorry, Dep,” Sharky spoke over the ricochet of machine gun fire. “No can do.”

“What?” she demanded and felt a stab of fear and annoyance at once more being ignored. “Sharky-”

“We’re to stay out of sight,” Hudson cut in darkly from her side as she moved in closer.

Her partner’s whole body was stiff with tension and energy as she slid down next to Bishop and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Bishop tried to take comfort in her proximity but they were both too anxious and upset to do much good for each other. Still, Hudson kept her tucked in tight, like she expected someone to try and prize her partner from her at any moment.

“They don’t know we’re here,” she spoke into Bishop’s ear. “They have an idea, but they don’t know for sure. There’s a chance that if they find out…”

She didn’t need to elaborate. Bishop understood.

_If they know we’re here, they might stop at nothing to tear the town apart to take us back._

Swallowing thickly, Bishop tried to ignore the traitorous part of her brain that was whispering excitedly at her.

_If John knows you’re here, he’ll bring the hammer down himself._

She hadn’t even given herself a chance to think about John since the escape. How long did it take for him to find out that his bunker had been compromised, that the Resistance had swept in and made off with so many of his prisoners? Where was he when he got the news, what had he being doing?

Did he think of her first? Did he think about the last moment they’d shared together?

She wanted nothing more than to physically shake her head and will such thoughts away. The memory of his lips on hers was suddenly overwhelming and she felt her face heat; she didn’t dare look at Hudson as a ridiculous paranoia seized her that somehow her partner could read her thoughts. God, what would Hudson even think if she knew what had transpired between her and John Seed?! Guilt surged through her as Hudson pressed her cheek to the top of her head; whether it was a display of comfort or solidarity didn’t matter, it still made Bishop feel terrible when just moments ago all she’d been selfishly thinking about was John Seed.

It sounded like the apocalypse outside, the air filled with nothing but gunfire and shouts. Bishop dug her hand into Boomer’s fur, trying to comfort him as he whined anxiously. She shared his stress – as did Hudson and Sharky as they all sat in shared silence, waiting for the end.

Waiting for a win…or waiting for a loss…

* * *

 

It had been silent for the past few hours now and the night sky was at its darkest. Yet no one slept at the Spread Eagle. Bishop and Hudson still sat huddled together with Boomer at their feet; Sharky was sitting against the opposite wall, shotgun cradled to his chest as he sat readied to launch to his feet at the first sign of trouble. There was muffled talking and footsteps coming through the floorboards from the bar below that Bishop had been focused on for the last hour or so. Nothing could be heard clearly or interpreted from their room above but she could gather enough to know that they were treating injuries and restocking weapons.

Preparing for the next inevitable bout.

Lifting her head from Hudson’s shoulder, Bishop glanced across at Sharky and took in his peculiar state. She was so used to seeing him easy-going and relaxed - even in the toughest of firefights they’d found themselves in. To find him looking so on edge and stoic was enough to make her feel downright unnerved.

“Sharky…you don’t have to stay here,” Bishop said gently. “You can go down with the others-”

“Nope,” he cut in, surprisingly brisk. “I’m not taking my eyes off you.”

Bishop watched the pained expression that flickered across his face and finally was able to put two and two together. Heart clenching painfully, she felt her face soften with warmth towards him.

“You can’t blame yourself for me being taken,” she told him.

“I sure as hell can!” he insisted, brow furrowing. “I should have been there with you!”

“It’s not your fault-”

“You asked me to come watch your back for that exact reason! If I’d been there-”

“It was an ambush, Sharky,” she told him plainly. “You being there wouldn’t have changed anything. They just would have taken you too…”

He still looked furious with himself. Quirking her lips up in a half-smile, she spoke pointedly to him.

“Besides, if they had you down there, who else would have lead the charge in to rescue me?”

It didn’t assuage him of his guilt – it was still written plainly across his face. Sighing softly, she lifted her hand from Boomer and motioned him over. Sharky blinked for a second before dragging himself up from his post and shuffling over. Sliding down the wall, he parked himself on Boomer’s other side. Bishop hesitated only a minute before reaching over and grasping his hand in her own.

Sharky started in surprise, looking from their hands and back up to her face. This was uncharacteristic behavior for her and even he knew it; forcing herself to ignore the awkwardness of it, she threaded her fingers with his and held. It took him a moment to do the same, though the action seemed relaxed and natural on his part.

“I can’t really go anywhere else,” he spoke up after a moment.  “I’m not allowed to be seen either.”

When she looked questioningly at him, he merely shrugged his shoulders.

“We hang out so much that if the Peggies see me here, Mary May and Pastor Jerome think they’ll know you’re here too…”

It made sense, put in that light. Still, Bishop couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

“It’s cause we’re ride or die,” she said.

Sharky’s face registered surprise for a few seconds before splitting into a grin.

“Ride or die! Hell yeah!” he agreed happily.

Hudson turned to give her a confused look and it almost made Bishop burst into hysterical laughter. The moment was destroyed by a rifle going off somewhere in the distance; the trio all went rigid together, shoulders tensing against each other.

Silence reigned for some time afterwards. Either someone had been spooked or they’d seen a Peggie sniffing around the perimeter. The latter seemed more likely, putting Bishop back on edge. She rested her head back on Hudson’s shoulder, taking comfort in her composure and proximity. Hudson didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, resting her cheek on the top of Bishop’s head.  Bishop squeezed Sharky’s hand and pulled it into her lap, thinking how warm and rough his skin was against hers.

To be surrounded by friends and loved ones, to be safe and warm and protected was more than she could ever ask for. She was back where she belonged – with the Resistance, ready to take the fight back to the cult. Still, she couldn’t deny that her heart kept lingering on the memory of John’s lips on hers, of the shine in his eyes when he told her they were meant to be, and felt a pang of longing that she couldn’t escape.

* * *

 

At some point in the night, Bishop had managed to doze off for a couple hours and awoke only when the sunlight streaming in across her eyelids became too much to bear. She’d rolled her stiff, aching neck and set to work on easing the IV out of her arm, wincing as she did before trying to stand. The movement awoke Hudson, who blinked the sleep out of her eyes and grabbed hold of Bishop’s arm.

“What’re you doing?” she insisted.

“I have to pee like it’s nobody’s business,” she said truthfully.

Bishop nudged Sharky in the ribs gently. He awoke with a choked snort, smacking his lips as he looked around owlishly.

“Help me get to the toilet,” she said.

Her legs were still uncooperative, barely able to support the weight of the rest of her body enough to stand. Sharky easily pulled her up onto her feet and helped support her as they ambled down the hall to the spare bathroom. She’d insisted on being left alone to do her business, despite Sharky continually volunteering his services to help.

Getting herself on and off the toilet was a struggle but just being able to get up and move was already doing wonders for her muscles, feeling five times stronger than she had only minutes before. Still, she knocked on the door and had Sharky come in to get her, not feeling like risking injury just to cushion her pride.

They made a slow descent down the stairs to the bar. Bishop was leaning heavily back on Sharky as they reached the bottom, but she was able to stand on her own two feet solidly enough to take sight of the rest of the crowd that was gathered there. Mary May stood behind the bar, looking over a map with Jeff and two other resistance fighters she couldn’t place. Connie was by the door with Jerome, sorting through a box of ammunition. Casey was in the kitchen in his usual position by the stove, boiling water for something. Before Bishop had a chance to even contemplate her hunger, she heard a familiar call of “Deputy” and turned to face Nick as he came trotting over.

Her heart swelled at the smile on his face and she opened her arms to him as he wrapped her in a tight embrace. His hug nearly realigned her spine, her muscles screaming in protest, but she refused to show any signs of distress, absolutely reveling in his presence. They stood locked in each other’s arms for a minute before Nick finally pulled back enough to look at her.

“All things, considered, you’re looking good!” he told her cheerfully.

“I feel a hell of a lot better than when you found me down there” she told him. “I still can’t believe we're standing here having this conversation...”

“We couldn’t leave you to suffer down there forever,” he told her with a soft smile; a moment later, he frowned as he stared at her exposed chest.

“Though seems like John Seed had time enough to make his mark.”

She didn’t miss the sour note in his voice. Trying not to think about John – _or any of the marks he had left_ – she reached up to button up her ruined shirt as much as she could.

“Let’s not talk about that now,” she said gently. “How is Kim?”

Nick seemed just as ready to switch topics and easily launched into how Kim and the still yet-to-be-born baby were doing. Bishop felt some of the aching in her heart dissipate as she was regaled with just how well Kim was faring in the last inning of her pregnancy; how the woman hadn’t been induced by stress in this nightmarish situation was just a testament to how strong-willed and tough she was.

Mary May finally took a moment to step out from behind the bar and approach as Nick was detailing Kim’s eagerness to see Bishop back over at the house for a meal sometime in the near future.

“She could make a plate of dirt and I’d devour it,” Bishop said, feeling just how hollow her stomach truly felt a moment later. “I can’t remember the last real meal I had.”

Nick’s brow furrowed.

“Jesus, they gave you nothing? All this time???” he asked angrily, face contorting with rage. “Fucking animals!”

“How long was I down there?” she asked curiously.

“At least 11 days, Deputy,” Mary May joined the conversation.

_11 days?!?!_

It seemed like such a long time…and yet, it didn’t seem long enough to have encompassed the entire breadth of events that took place down in the bunker. 11 days with John Seed…that was all it had taken for him to break her. It was all it had taken to forge some sort of twisted mutual understanding, a shared sense of…

Mary May clapped a hand down on Bishop’s shoulder, jolting her from her thoughts. The older woman gave her a smile as she took in the haggard state of her appearance.

“You look hungry, Deputy,” she said and Bishop tried not to blush. “What’ll it be?”

“Anything you place in front of me,” Bishop answered, letting her thoughts hastily swap to the pathetic starving groans of her stomach. “I could eat an entire car.”

Sharky had stepped to the side while she had chatted with Nick but quickly stepped up to help guide her to one of the tables nearby. Bishop accepted his arm, though feeling much sturdier on her feet, and let him pull out and push in her chair for her. Casey must have already had something prepared for her because a plate was pushed in front of her only seconds later.

Her eyes widened and she fought back drool spilling out of her lips as she stared at the eggs and bacon and toast sitting there invitingly. Restraint was lost entirely the moment she took in her first mouthful, tearing into the pile of food like a wolf upon its prey.

“Easy there, champ!” Sharky cautioned from the chair beside her. “You eat too fast and you’ll throw it all back up!”

She knew he was right but it was so difficult to explain to her greedy stomach, demanding more, more, MORE! Still, she tried slowing her pace, taking her time to chew rather than just inhale. Pastor Jerome took that moment to make his way over and sat across from her. Bishop stared around a mouthful before dropping her fork and extending her hand out to him; with a smile, he grasped it firmly in his own, mirroring a moment so long ago when she’d first rolled into Fall’s End and liberated the town from the cult.

“I’m glad to see you getting your strength back,” Jerome said as he watched her return to her food. “You were in a sorry state when they brought you in.”

“I don’t even remember that,” she said honestly as she pushed her empty plate aside.

Frowning at her stomach still yowling for sustenance, she almost cried when Casey himself stepped out of the kitchen to place an omelet down before her.

“You are a literal saint,” she fawned as she picked up her fork and started chopping it up into little pieces.

She was halfway through her omelet and listening to Jerome recount the resistance’s activity in her absence when out of the corner of her eye she saw Hudson finally descending the stairs. Her partner strolled over to the table and instantly claimed the empty seat on Bishop’s other side. She looked tired but more alert; gratefully accepting a plate of eggs and bacon from Casey, she sat quietly as Jerome finished telling Bishop about the failed attempt by the Peggies to take back US Auto not long after she’d been taken by the capture party only a few miles up the road.

“Got any coffee?” Hudson finally spoke up, sounding subdued.

Nick reached for the pot at his end of the table and passed it her way. She poured herself a cup as Bishop watched silently, nibbling on the end of her toast.

“You remember that time Pratt tried cleaning the station coffee pot?” she asked her after a moment. “And didn’t wash out all the vinegar he used in it?”

Hudson’s nose wrinkled around the lip of her mug, yet when she pulled back there was a smile forming on her face.

“And the coffee tasted like straight vinegar?” she said with a huff of laughter. “How could I ever forget?”

“I couldn’t trust that coffee for like a solid week, I got residual tastes of it for days,” Bishop said with a smile of her own. “Lesson learned about asking Pratt to try and clean anything.”

Bishop and Hudson smiled together before somber silence settled between them. For her part, Bishop was left picturing Pratt’s cheeky grin and the way he always leaned on her desk’s cubicle wall when he came to bother her during slow hours. God, she hoped he was okay.

“We’re getting him back,” Bishop said aloud, turning to face Hudson after a moment. “No matter what it takes.”

Hudson’s eyes narrowed but they were full of resolution. Mary May came to slide into the seat across from Hudson and inquired about their accommodations upstairs. As Bishop listened to Hudson politely answer, she gazed up and down the length of the table, at the conversation between Nick, Sharky, and Jerome and back to Hudson and Mary May and felt a wave of tranquility pass over her.

It was easy to forget the last few weeks and embrace the sense of normalcy that came from such a scene. Overlooking the armed guards at the doors and windows, it might have looked like an average brunch among friends to an outsider. Bishop found herself smiling with contentment, willing the image before her to remain the new standard in the coming days.

* * *

 

The morning’s lightheartedness had _not_ lasted. Hell, it hadn’t even made it a full day. By evening, there were shouts echoing up and down the main street warning of approaching trucks before gunfire ripped through the air once more.

Bishop sat against the wall in the downstairs of the Spread Eagle, Boomer curled up between her legs. She itched with adrenaline, her body shaking with each gunshot and every yell that came from the streets outside. Beside her, Hudson was very much the same, muscles taut with tension as they listened to machine gun fire from the auto garage’s rooftop just next door.

Scattered around the bar were several Resistance fighters, Nick and Sharky included. Mary May and Jerome could be heard from outside barking orders into their radios and up and down the street to the forces dug in at either end of the town.

Bishop itched to be given a gun, to rush out and join the defenses out there; given the chance, Hudson would have done just the same. But they both knew they were still to remain out of sight. There was no guarantee the Peggies knew they were there, or if they even sought to take them back; this could very well just be retaliation against the Resistance’s successful raid on John’s bunker.

Still, Bishop couldn’t help but feel that wasn’t the case. In the quiet hours when the fighting came to a halt, more than one Resistance fighter had seen Peggie patrols slinking around the town’s perimeter. During those times they hadn’t exchanged fire, merely kept their distance and observed.

 _They’re probing_ , Bishop thought miserably. _They’re trying to get a glimpse of the forces dug in here..._

It only made her more certain that they were specifically looking for any signs of her. She refused to voice the reasons why she was so sure of this, fearful of the reactions of her allies if they knew just how… _intimate_ confession had become with John. The man knew things none of them ever would; it was strange to acknowledge that the things she had divulged to him she could never see herself sharing with Mary May or Jerome or even Hudson. It hurt in its own way that she couldn’t bring herself to share such secrets with people who were supposed to be her friends…and it only reinforced the notion that something profound had formed between she and John.

She’d never experienced whatever it was before now; it was both frightening and - if she was being honest with herself - a little exhilarating.

A gunshot ricocheted off one of the posts on the porch, bringing Bishop back to reality with a sharp inhalation of breath. The gunfire was growing distant, if her ears weren’t deceiving her; a moment later, she heard Nick’s radio click to life and Mary May confirmed as much.

“They’re pulling back! Get anyone injured inside - NOW!”

Jeff was the first through the door, helping Connie limp through as she clutched her thigh. Two others followed behind while Mary May and Jerome brought up the rear. Bishop started to try and stand, ready to offer any services, before Jerome waved her away.

“Just stay put, Deputy,” he said.

Frustration gnawed at her gut; as she slumped back down beside Hudson, she could practically feel the same emotion rolling off her partner in waves. Hudson wrapped an arm around Bishop and they both sat and watched as Jeff worked on digging the metal slug out of Connie’s leg with Nick’s help.

“Coulda been worse,” Nick said, sounding vaguely ill. “Didn’t hit nothing important.”

Bishop had learned by now to not ask about how things were going for the town after one of these bouts. There was always an inevitable heavy silence that was uncomfortable and only made morale drop. Fall’s End couldn’t take this kind of assault much longer. Their forces were still split between here, Rye & Sons Aviation, the recovered outposts, and across the Henbane where the convoy had taken Trish, Laura, Hannah, and some of the others…making their already meager numbers stretched as thin as they could possibly go. Nick earlier had quietly admitted to Bishop (out of earshot of Mary May, of course) that they could only last another day or two under the kind of heavy fire they were being subjected to.

“They’re retreating?” Bishop enquired after a moment when it became apparent Connie was gonna be okay.

“No,” Mary May said darkly, as several Resistance fighters funneled back out the front door and back into the streets. “They’ve ceased fire but they’re still at the gates.”

That made her nose scrunch in confusion. Just what in the hell were they up to…?

“Deputy Bishop!”

Bishop froze at the voice echoing through a megaphone or loudspeaker into the empty streets. Hudson’s arm squeezed down around her tighter in response, to the point of being almost crushing. Looking between the rest of her friends and allies, Bishop saw them all bearing similar expressions of alarm.

“Deputy Bishop, if you can hear me, turn yourself in!” the voice reverberated through the air again. “Come quietly and no harm will come to you!”

Bishop swallowed thickly, trying not to shake in Hudson’s grasp.

“He’s bluffing,” Mary May hissed through the silence. “They don’t know you’re here.”

Still, no one dared move, eyes all glued to the windows and doors in the front for signs of movement.

“Deputy…John Seed has a message for you!”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly with shock. It was a delicate mixture of terror and excitement that blossomed inside her at those words, making her heart start to jackhammer inside her chest. Hudson unconsciously dug her nails into Bishop’s arm; the pain helped tether her to the reality of the situation. Swallowing thickly, she listened and waited with bated breath.

“If you turn yourself in now, no further harm will come to Fall’s End,” the man’s voice proclaimed. “The Project will lay down arms and walk away. Your Resistance can maintain control of this town.”

Promising the safety of her friends in exchange for her newly earned freedom…that was very much a calculated move by John himself. He knew she’d take that bargain, given the chance. 

Damn him. Still…

“Guys…,” she spoke up quietly.

Instantly, a chorus of harsh voices silenced her.

“No way, Deputy,” Nick said as he shook his head furiously.

“Just think for a second,” she insisted. “You already said Fall’s End can’t hold out against this kind of assault much longer. If I-”

“Absolutely not!” Hudson hissed, arm around her constricting painfully “No fucking way!”

“Please, just-”

“Shut up, Deputy,” Mary May barked, eyes still looking through her reflex sight at the door. “We didn’t go through all the trouble of rescuing you just to throw you back to the wolves.”

While touched beyond words at their care and loyalty, Bishop still couldn’t help but despair at their resolve.

“If they break through, they’ll just take me anyway,” she tried reasoning.

“If they take this town again, then we all go down together,” Jerome finally spoke up. “Win or lose, we are a family. And we will not turn on each other for anything.”

Bishop shut her eyes tightly and tried steadying her breathing.

“Deputy…all you have to do…is say ‘Yes’…”

* * *

 

The rest of the night, by some miracle, had passed by uneventfully. Bishop had not been turned over and the Peggies had finally slunk off when the Resistance had dug in and made a big enough display to make them rethink just how long they wanted to drag out this particular face-off.

Still, it hadn’t made it any easier for Bishop to rest; she’d lay awake between Hudson and Sharky, arms wrapped around Boomer as she wrestled with her own dark thoughts in the early morning hours. She was tired as she dragged herself down into the bar after sunrise but she managed to make it down the stairs on her own.

Nick had just made a trip back from his home and was entering the bar as she emerged on the floor, flanked by Sharky and Hudson. He walked briskly up to her and she inquired about things at Rye & Sons; it was a welcome relief to hear Kim was still just fine and that the small number of Resistance fighters dug in with her were keeping things locked down. She’d smiled at him just as Jerome came into the bar, followed by a string of others, all carrying boxes of ammunition. Feeling herself sour at the sight, she listened silently as he murmured to Mary May; she didn’t have to hear the words being exchanged when she could read the stress and worry written all over the barkeep’s face.

“I have to leave,” she announced suddenly.

Every head in the bar whipped around to stare at her in alarm.

“Now listen,” Mary May spoke up harshly, “We already went over this-”

“No, YOU listen!” she snapped, finally through with letting people speak over her. “John has a suspicion I’m here! And he won’t stop sending his goons in waves until he knows for certain if I am or not!”

She glared at each of them in turn, daring anyone to try and shut her down again.

“And if he does find out, he’s just gonna swoop in with an army.”

“You don’t know that,” Nick spoke up, trying to be mediator. “We just need to hold the line a little longer-”

“Until what? We finally crash and burn?” Bishop cut him off. “We can’t keep them out forever with our numbers.”

Taking in the expressions surrounding her, she realized she was becoming too harsh and aggressive to be seen as rational; lowering her hackles, she took in a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

“Let me head east,” she insisted, voice steadier than before. “I’ll go into Henbane territory or the Whitetails and let myself be seen so John knows I’m not around any longer. It might be enough to make him back off for a little while.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Mary May asked.

“Then I can at least round up some people from the jail and have them send some backup,” she answered easily.

It was sound logic - none of them could deny that. Bishop had rehearsed that pitch several times over during the night when she realized it was time to move on. The longer she stayed, the more danger it placed everyone else in; she wasn’t back to her full strength but she feel capable enough to make it out of the town and find a car to boost and take it over the Henbane towards the jail.

Besides, she was going to go insane if she had to stay another night and sit idly twiddling her thumbs while everyone else around her risked their lives to stave off another wave of Peggies. It was high time to get back in the fight. Maybe getting back to her routine of causing absolute mayhem for the cult was all she needed to help clear her head.

Thinking about John Seed every other minute certainly wasn’t doing her any good.

“I’m gonna need some weapons,” she said when no one spoke up to argue. “But first, I need a goddamn shower.”

* * *

 

Mary May had been gracious enough to loan her some fresh clothes; she was marginally taller than Bishop so she’d have to roll the jeans up several times to avoid tripping but otherwise she could make do. Bishop took the stack of garments with her to the small bathroom attached to Mary May’s room and dropped them on the floor unceremoniously. She stripped of her filthy clothes slowly, trying to make sure she didn’t slip and fall.

How embarrassing would that be: to have survived everything up until that moment and then trip on her jeans and crack her head open on the sink and bleed out? Taking her time, she piled her dirty clothes by the door and stepped into the shower, not bothering to wait for the temperature to adjust before stepping under the spray.

“Ohhhhhhh man,” she groaned the second the water hit her skin.

Water was to be rationed so she knew she had to clean herself quickly…but she gave herself a few moments to stand and just revel in the feeling of the spray washing away the first layer of blood, sweat, and dirt clinging to her flesh. Finally, she took the bar of soap to herself and started scrubbing every inch several times over. She could feel the grime coming off in waves and shuddered with pleasure as she finally – _finally_ – started to feel clean for the first time in forever.

It felt like heaven…the only drawbacks being the pain from the broken skin at her wrists, only just now starting to scab over, and the pain from her abdominal muscles as she bent and stretched to reach and scrub every part of herself. She finally chanced a glance down at her belly and inspected the damage; she was black and blue all over her stomach, the impact spot from the rifle’s butt still a sharp, nasty purple that was painful to prod at.

Her hands stalled over the space across her chest where her tattoo lay. It didn’t ache as much as the rest of her injuries…but she couldn’t help herself from tracing each letter with her soapy fingers. She didn’t like how easy it was to dredge up memories and feelings of her time spent with John and the way he’d carved each individual letter into her...or the way he’d inspected each one after he’d finished, dragging his own fingers up and down them. Shaking her head furiously to rid her mind of such thoughts, she squirted shampoo into her hands and worked it into a lather in her filthy hair.

All but preening with joy, she found it easy to forget about John and shared secrets as she combed through her tangled locks, only blanching when she opened her eyes and saw the brown hue the foam washing off of her had taken. She washed her hair thoroughly once more before rinsing and moving on to a generous portion of conditioner to have her hair back to a semblance of the softness she liked maintaining.

She’d give anything to stay and stand under the spray forever but forced herself to shut off the water and pad back out into the bathroom. Bending to grab her change of clothes was agony, her gut muscles groaning in protest; grimacing, she tried her best to work around the pain and set to work on changing.

Clean skin, clean clothes…god, what a difference they made. When Bishop finally exited the bathroom, she felt like a new woman. Strange, she felt different in general; she hadn’t allowed herself to think on that notion the several times it had entered her head in the last two days, chalking it up to the fatigue and dehydration making her feel off. But being back to some measure of normalcy, she could no longer deny that she had changed.

Something had happened in the span of her time down in that bunker. It felt like something had been cut loose from her – and fortunately not the skin bearing the tattoo across her chest. She would never, ever thank John Seed for kidnapping her and torturing her down there…but the time they’d spent together had unintended consequences.

Her soul…it felt lighter. It was the only way she could think to describe the sensation. The weight she seemed to bear on her back and shoulders over the years seemed to have lessened, making it easier to stand tall.

John Seed, unofficial therapist. Who knew.

Scoffing to herself, she shook her head as she grabbed for her ruined flannel, sinking her hand in its front pocket. If only-

Her eyes widened as she groped around in empty space. She tried the other pocket and met air there as well. Pulling the shirt up to her face, she stared desperately for any sign of-

_John’s lips quirked upwards in the making of a smile before he turned back to the cart at her side. Placing the badge carefully back down on its surface…_

The memory taunted her as she felt her stomach fill with overwhelming despair.

_No…no, no, no!_

Her father’s badge still presumably sat on the cart in that room in the bunker. In the confusion of Nick and Sharky’s arrival, she’d completely forgotten about it. She hadn’t grabbed it or asked someone else to make sure it came along with them; how would they have known to when only she and John knew its significance?

Her chest started to heave; before she realized it, she was hyperventilating as she became gripped by anguish. So much for feeling lighter; the crushing weight returned to her chest and shoulders, almost sending her sinking straight to the floor.

She wanted to break something. She wanted to throw things around, to destroy the whole room. But this was Mary May’s home – these were her things. Her mind wasn’t so far gone that she would ever think to rampage through what little belongings the woman had left, especially when she’d shown her nothing but altruism and friendship.

Planting her feet with a loud stomp, she allowed herself one yell.

“GOD! DAMNIT!!!” she roared.

Ignoring the screaming protests of her abdominals, she bent over herself, practically hugging her knees as she ground her teeth together and bellowed out an inhuman sound of anger and sorrow. She rose to her full height again, hands fisting in her hair just as footsteps thundered down the hall to the door behind her. Hudson burst in without knocking, looking around in alarm.

“Rook?!” she said as she took in the sight of her partner standing there looking on the verge of a total breakdown. “Are you alright?!”

Shamed at having made such a spectacle of herself, Bishop tried desperately to force her tears away and fight back the tide of emotions swirling through her. But she was powerless to control her feelings – her parents were an open wound to her heart that would never, ever heal. Losing that badge…

“Rook?” Hudson said again; her tone spoke of her concern but she held herself in check and didn’t approach, like she was scared how Bishop would turn on her.

“No,” Bishop finally answered, voice watery and choked. “No, I’m not okay…”

“What is it?” Hudson asked gently, taking a tentative step closer.

Bishop shook the ruined flannel clenched in her hand, as if it would explain anything to Hudson. Balling it in her fist, she hurled it with all the strength she had at the floor, watching it bounce harmlessly against the hardwood. Hudson watched her carefully as she paced and drew in haggard, rapid breaths.

“Something very important to me…got left behind,” she struggled to say, still gasping for air as she hyperventilated. “John took it from me…and it’s still down there…”

Hudson took slow steps towards her until she was by her side; Bishop could only watch from the corner of her eye, still too distressed to focus on anything besides the crushing pressure that had reemerged in her chest, making it so damn hard to breathe. Hudson gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder and left it there, seeing if Bishop would let her touch her. When she made no move to recoil or snap, her partner wrapped an arm around her and gently coaxed her forward.

“Come on,” she encouraged softly.

Bishop fought to rein her breathing back in as she let Hudson guide her out into the hallway and back towards the storage room they were sharing. Before they could make it there, Sharky came hurtling up the stairs, eyes wide and questioning.

“What is it?! What’s wrong?!” he asked frantically, looking stunned to see Bishop crying and vulnerable.

Hudson waved him off sternly, frowning at him over Bishop’s head. Sharky stood there in bewildered silence as she guided her partner into the room and shut the door behind them, leaving him standing alone in his confusion. Hudson guided Bishop towards the sleeping bags they’d dragged closer together during the night.

 _It was just a thing_ , Bishop tried telling herself as Hudson eased her to the ground. _It could never replace the memory of him._

But it was still a tangible connection - the last physical link she had with her father. Something he had pinned to his chest daily, letting her mother straighten it when he was too sleep-addled before his first cup of coffee. His fingers had never left a lasting impression like Bishop’s had but every time she traced its engravings, outlined its edges, it felt like she could still feel the warmth of where their fingers had once been.

They sat in miserable, uncomfortable silence for a long while. Bishop sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, ignoring the painful ache in her stomach as she hugged her legs to herself. She couldn’t see Hudson’s face but she could feel her stare lingering on her the whole time.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hudson offered up eventually.

She sounded wary, as if she was worried Bishop might finally snap at any given moment. Maybe she was right to feel that way; Bishop couldn’t contain the bitter, biting laugh that escaped her throat.

“Oh, I talked plenty about it with John,” she said sourly.

It took a minute of silence for Bishop to think over what she’d just said and feel guilt. She wasn’t trying to take anything out on Hudson…but it sure sounded like it in retrospect. Wincing to herself, she chanced a glance at her partner; she still sat by her side, looking pensive and concerned even as she kept her gaze on her hands folded across her lap.

Bishop couldn’t have felt more like shit even if she tried. Hudson was her partner – her friend! She had told John otherwise but it was the truth; she’d give anything to protect Hudson…already had, in fact. Why, then, did it seem so hard to talk about this with her than it had been with John? He and Jess Black were the only two people in Hope County she'd shared that painful secret with...but why shouldn't Hudson know too? They'd been through so much together - she'd earned the right. 

“It was my father’s sheriff badge,” she said after a moment. “…he and my mother were both murdered a long time ago…and it’s about the only thing I had left of them…”

Hudson sat in silence for a minute, the only sound between them Bishop’s occasional soft sniffle.

“I’m sorry, Rook,” she offered up finally.

When Bishop felt she could chance a glance her way, she was surprised at the overwhelming sympathy in Hudson’s face. Hudson had always been no-nonsense in their time working together – she didn’t joke around like Pratt did and she was always professional and making sure Bishop toed the line. But she had never been unkind, not once. Bishop may have been an only child…but Hudson was what she imagined an older sister should and would have acted like.

“I never told anyone here about it,” she said, trying to squash down the absolute turmoil still raging insider her. “Not even you, and you’re my partner…it’s no one’s fault but mine.”

“No,” Hudson cut in sharply, “It’s no one’s fault but John Seed’s.”

Bishop wished she could agree with her but found the guilt stay lay squarely upon her own shoulders. Her gaze fell down to her lap, to her un-bandaged wrists and stared at the damage she had done to herself in her many failed escape attempts.

“He…he asked about you a lot,” Hudson offered up suddenly.

Anna looked up from her hands; Hudson’s gaze was across the room at the wall, dissecting one of the planks of wood lining the wall.

“I’d been down there a bit and he suddenly stopped asking for me to confess and just wanted to know everything about you.”

She scoffed then, her face contorting with anger.

“I wouldn’t tell him anything…but I didn’t have answers for most of what he wanted anyway. He accused me of lying,” she spat. “’You two are partners, you must know something’…piece of shit.”

Bishop felt her throat constrict, pained to be the cause of any of Hudson’s suffering. That must have come after the Baptism and her escape from captivity with the help of Jerome. A question surfaced in her mind that refused to be buried again and she swallowed before trying to speak up.

“Did….did John ever come back and bother you after I showed up?” she asked quietly.

Hudson’s eyes narrowed.

“Other than the time he dragged me back to see your branding? No,” she replied, “That was the first time I’d seen him in a while. Didn’t see him again after that either. Must have been too preoccupied with you…”

Anna didn’t miss the bitter anger in her voice.

“So he did keep his word…,” she mused aloud.

Hudson gave her a questioning look.

“He promised he’d leave you alone if I…if I confessed all my sins,” Bishop offered up with some hesitation. “I’m just a little surprised he did.”

Hudson’s face contorted with pained regret.

“You shouldn’t have had to bear that burden, Rook,” she said after a moment. “That wasn’t right to put it all on your shoulders.”

“You’d been down there a long time, Hudson,” Bishop replied. “You’d already suffered enough. I figured I could take whatever he could dish out if it meant cutting you a break for a little while.”

Hudson stared at her a long moment, her mouth working as if to speak but remaining closed and silent. Finally, she dropped her gaze to the floor and stared harshly at the cracked wood.

“I know I’m your partner and we should be equals,” she said quietly, “But I was supposed to be your mentor too. And I’ve done nothing but fail you.”

“You haven’t failed me,” Anna cut in sharply.

“No, I have!” Hudson insisted. “You’re so young, so green! And yet it’s been you saving everyone’s asses this whole time! Running around and helping everyone you can while I was tied up in that bunker! And even when they finally caught you and brought you down there too, you still put yourself on the line for me when you shouldn’t have had to! I should have been the one looking out for you…”

She finally dragged her gaze back to Bishop, her eyes shining even in the dim light.

“You’re just too goddamn selfless, Rook. You know that?” she said. “You put everyone before yourself. How do you do it?”

_Just hate yourself enough and it comes easily._

She declined to voice that thought to Hudson. As she stared back at her partner, waiting for some kind of response, she just gave a tired shrug.

“I don’t know,” she lied.

The silence that settled between them was uncomfortable.

“What happened down there?” Hudson finally spoke up. “Whatever went on between you and John…it’s changed you. Even I can see it.”

Feeling a thrill of terror shoot up and down her spine, it took Bishop a minute before she could safely bring her eyes to meet Hudson’s again. What could she tell her? The truth? Would she be able to understand or would she reject her? The fear of Hudson’s disapproval and disdain was enough to make her want to maintain her silence.

But she owed it to Hudson to be honest. They were partners…and if she didn’t trust her with this, then who could she?

“John and I…we talked a lot down there,” she started quietly, trying to keep the fear from her voice. “We…we came to an understanding of sorts.”

“…An understanding?”

Hudson’s tone conveyed her disbelief; there was also a hard edge creeping into it that made Bishop’s heart falter with dread.

“He and I were both victims of horrific child abuse,” she explained before she lost her nerve – or before Hudson decided she’d heard enough. “…I feel like he’s the only one who understands what I’ve been through, how I feel. And I get why he is the way he is now.”

Drawing her unwilling gaze up to Hudson, she took in the expression on her face.

“I could have turned out just like him, Hudson,” she said softly. “…We’re really not so different.”

“No, you are _entirely_ different!” Hudson protested. “John Seed only cares about himself. And you…you care about everyone except yourself.”

Bishop could only blink, unable to contain her shock. She didn’t give Hudson enough credit…how easily she had sliced through her armor and found her weak point. Did she even have armor left anymore? It seemed like John had stripped that from her and she lay exposed for anyone to come and pick apart. To be so vulnerable left her feeling small and scared – much like her 11 year old self again.

“Part of why I have to leave…,” she started slowly, shutting her eyes tightly. “Is because I’m afraid…I’m afraid if John tries to come for me again…I won’t be willing to fight back.”

She let her head hit the wall behind her as she sat back and shrank into herself.

“I’m just so tired…,” she admitted. “And he knows it…knows just how I feel…I can’t-”

Hudson made her fall silent as she got up and bridged the distance between them; she squatted down beside Bishop and placed both hands on her shoulders. Bishop could only fearfully open her eyes and gaze up at her.

“Bishop,” she said softly, “It’s alright. The Seeds…they know how to get in your head, how to manipulate you. It’s what they do – how they got their following.”

She lifted a hand to Bishop’s face to rub her cheek gently.

“You’re so strong…but even the strongest have their limits,” she told her. “Don’t let him get inside your head.”

Bishop felt her expression shift to dismay.

“But he’s already in there,” she insisted. “I can’t…”

Hudson sighed as she shifted and plopped herself down beside Bishop.

“Then let us take care of him,” her partner said. “You go and help the Sheriff and the Cougars…”

She turned pointedly to stare into Bishop’s eyes.

“Or go get our boy Pratt back.”

Bishop felt her heart ache at the mention of Pratt…but it helped fuel her resolve. Even if John had an edge on her…there was still Faith and Jacob to contend with. And at the end of the line was Joseph Seed himself. If she couldn’t face John, then focus on the things she could: taking down his siblings, helping the innocent, fighting the nameless Peggies who terrorized the county in the name of the cult.

“Alright,” she agreed a minute later. “Everything but John…I can manage.”

“That doesn’t exactly even out the work load, but I’m willing to take whatever anyone will give me,” Hudson joked.

Bishop couldn’t help but hum out a bar of laughter, pleased to see Hudson regaining some of her old spark.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Bishop said after a moment, “But John’s kinda taken with me.”

Hudson snorted.

“‘Kinda taken’?” she parroted incredulously. “Guy’s obsessed! I think he’d force you into marriage if you let him get the chance.”

Bishop’s mind took that moment to supply the memory of his hungry kisses devouring her lips; she flushed bright red, feeling mortified at the butterflies that spawned in her stomach in response. She was never more certain she couldn’t tell Hudson about her last encounter with John than in that moment.

“Maybe… _not_ say anything like that,” she mumbled, fighting the urge to bury her face in her knees.

Hudson looked over and smiled at her.

“Not ready to be his cult bride? Then your heart’s still in the right place,” she told her. “Now you heading outta here soon or are you gonna wait for John to come and try to carry you across the threshold first?”

* * *

 

 

"Looking into your eyes I know I'm right  
If there's anything worth my love it's worth a fight  
We only get one chance  
But nothing ties our hands  
You're what I want  
Listen to me  
Nothing I want  
Is out of my reach

(I'm Free!)

  
Heaven helps the man who fights his fear  
Love's the only thing that keeps me here  
You're the reason that I'm hanging on  
My heart's staying where my heart belongs

(I'm Free!)"

_ I'm Free (Heaven Helps the Man), Kenny Loggins _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all for the comments and kudos, and for sticking with me thus far! I can't even put into words how much the support for Anna and this fic have made me so ridiculously happy - you're all the best <3 <3 <3


	8. Chapter 8

Both Mary May and Pastor Jerome tried talking Bishop into giving herself another night to rest and regain more of her strength. Nothing could persuade her to change her mind, however, and their pleas fell on deaf ears.

“I can’t stay any longer,” she insisted. “It’s too dangerous – for everyone.”

She neglected to disclose to them what she’d shared with Hudson only hours before about her dilemma involving John. Jerome she felt might be understanding…but Mary May’s hatred for John knew no bounds. And she had every justifiable reason for that loathing – he and his family had taken _everything_ from her. Save for the very bar they all stood in…and Bishop would to be damned if she let Fall’s End get taken over again and she lost that too.

Jerome had walked her through what weapons they had left in reserve. She was still smarting from having lost her revolver, assault rifle, and Desert Eagle back when John’s capture party took her captive.

Or so she thought. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers as Jerome pulled out a familiar looking pistol and handed it to her.

“I believe this belongs to you, Deputy,” he said with a smile as he took in the expression on her face. “We were just a few minutes late to stop them from taking you, but this was found on the ground where they put you down.”

Bishop accepted the Desert Eagle from him, eyeing it like the treasure it was. She’d happened upon it in a prepper stash not long after the county had been cut off and it had been a mainstay in her gear ever since. It wasn’t the same thing as being given her father’s sheriff badge back, no…but it was as close to happiness she could probably reach in her current state of mind.

“Doesn’t help no one else seems capable of using it,” Jerome teased, earning a smile in return from Bishop.

“Gotta have a strong hand,” she said as she slid out its magazine and pointed it at the far wall, checking its sight.

Jerome hummed out a laugh in agreement, watching her work. A moment later, Mary May approached with Bishop’s sniper rifle in hand; she’d left it behind the day she was taken and the barkeep had blessedly kept it stowed away while she was incarcerated.

“I knew you’d be coming back for it,” Mary May said with a wink as she gave it to her.

Bishop could only smile, hoping she knew just how much it meant to her.

“Thank you both,” she said, feeling her chest grow tight. “For everything…I owe you.”

“You owe us nothing, Deputy,” Jerome told her. “You’ve done more for us than we can ever repay.”

“But if it makes you sleep better at night, how ‘bout we say this makes us closer to even?” Mary May said with a smile.

Bishop gave her a grateful look, unable to come up with a fitting response.

 “What’s your plan, Deputy?” Jerome asked after a moment, shifting back to serious conversation and sparing her any awkwardness.

“Gonna hitch a ride outta here in a bit, hopefully be close to the Henbane by dusk,” she told them as she shouldered her sniper rifle. “With any luck, we’ll slip over the border by nightfall and grab some wheels and make it to the jail by dawn.”

They could only nod in agreement, realizing there was no better route to pursue. Still, Mary May and Jerome both looked uneasy and it set Bishop on edge as well. Anything and everything could go wrong with such a plan – they’d all just have to be prepared for the worst and hope for the best.

“It was a bad move to only be using two radio frequencies,” Bishop admitted quietly after a moment. “Which is why I’m gonna cycle through several throughout the day.”

It would be a pain in the ass…but it’s what she should have done from the start. Lesson learned. She took the time to sit at the bar and write out the hours and channel numbers for Mary May and Jerome to have.

“Pass this on to Dutch,” she told them. “And to anyone you can trust. I’m not going dark on the official police channel, I’ll still keep my ear on it…but I can’t keep running to every single call I get on it from now on.”

That would be a one way ticket right back into John’s hands.

John…she was left wondering about him a great deal now, try as she might to avoid the thought of him entirely. He’d made clear just the night before that he was still very much thinking of her…

As loathe as she was to admit it, she almost wanted to hear his voice again. She could handle not being face to face with him – since that almost guaranteed being returned to that godforsaken bunker, and she had absolutely no desire for that to happen – but if she could just hear him speak to her again…

 _Jesus – you’re in deep. Way over your head…,_ her mind supplied unhelpfully.

Catching herself before she spoke aloud in response to the voice in her head, she turned back to Mary May and Jerome.

“I’m ready to head out within the hour,” she said simply. “But there’s one thing I need to attend to first.”

* * *

 

Bishop had left Sharky and Boomer downstairs and headed back up to her room above the bar. She found her partner at the window, looking down at the main street and taking in the sight of several Resistance members conversing and refortifying their positions dotted between the remaining houses and shops still standing. Trying desperately not to think about the assault they were in for later in the night, Bishop forced down a lump in her throat as she spoke to Hudson.

“They letting you out of solitary any time soon?”

Hudson turned to face her, a tired smile appearing on her lips.

“Not until you make yourself scarce,” she answered. “And while I’m not saying I want you to leave…I _am_ counting down the minutes until I can stand out under the sun again.”

Bishop smiled wryly at her; it was nice to see her typical dry sense of humor coming back. There was a constant worry in her gut that this whole ordeal might leave them all so wholly changed nothing of their former selves would be left by the time the smoke cleared. To see Hudson acting even a little like she normally would was a welcome relief.

“Well, you only need to hold out for a little while longer. We’re heading out soon,” she said.

There was a silence that fell between them that wasn’t uncomfortable but held all the sadness of their imminent parting. Bishop played with her loose hair, trying to think of something else to say; Hudson spared her the embarrassment by motioning her over.

“C’mere,” she said as she sat herself on a nearby crate and motioned to the spot on the floor in front of her.

Wordlessly, Bishop obeyed; as Hudson reached for her hair and started to play with it, her eyes slipped shut as she basked in the warm, tenderness of her partner’s touch. It took great strength of will to banish the memories of John’s fingers stroking her head and focus instead on Hudson as she started to braid her hair.

“Nothing fancy like you normally do,” she said as she finished, draping the tail over Bishop’s shoulder. “But that’s about the extent of what I can manage.”

Bishop tested each link of the braid, making sure it was spaced evenly before turning to face Hudson. Her partner looked her up and down before a small smile pulled at her lips again.

“Guess we match now,” she said fondly as she tucked a loose strand of Bishop’s bangs behind her ear.

Bishop could only smile back, feeling her face heat with embarrassment.

“If we’re being honest, I only really started braiding my hair to match you,” she admitted sheepishly. “I kept it fancy so it wasn’t so glaringly obvious.”

The warmth that flooded into Hudson’s eyes was worth the momentary discomfort; all other emotions melted away as Hudson pulled her into a tight embrace and she was left reveling in the safety and comfort of her partner’s embrace.

“Please be careful, Rook,” she heard Hudson murmur into her hair, squeezing her tightly.

All at once, sadness gripped her heart again as she realized this was goodbye. After everything it took to get Hudson back – all the fighting and pain, the physical and mental tolls, the personal cost – it seemed unfair to have to bid her farewell so soon. Even if it was Bishop’s own decision, it still left a bitter taste in her mouth as she pulled back and gazed mournfully up at Hudson.

“Keep in touch,” Hudson urged. “Just so I know you’re still safe.”  
“Of course,” Bishop agreed. “Or just keep an ear to the radio. You’ll know when they’re talking about me – there tends to be a lot of swearing and explosions.”

Hudson merely smirked, fire relit in her eyes.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

* * *

 

Casey had their ride back up into the Spread Eagle’s loading area at the rear of the bar. Bishop had helped heave Boomer up into the truck’s bed before sliding in beside him. Sharky made the fit tight but all three of them could lie flat in the back of the pickup and remain out of sight. Casey himself had helped pin the tarp down on top of them to give them much needed cover; before he’d tacked down the last corner, Bishop had extended her hand out for him to shake.

“Thanks for everything, Casey,” she said earnestly.

“Think nothing of it, Deputy,” he told her with a smile and a firm shake before letting her withdraw back into the truck bed.

Bishop had Boomer held down with one hand and her Desert Eagle cradled to her chest with the other as the truck rattled out of Fall’s End. The air was thick with tension as all three in the back lay together and listened for any sign of trouble. Aside from the truck’s noisy engine and the birds chirping in the sky, there wasn’t much of anything to hear…it didn’t set Bishop at ease. If anything, it put her more on edge, mentally preparing herself for another ambush.

The ride felt like the longest of her entire life; and just as soon as that thought entered her mind, they were pulling off the road, the undercarriage rocking the truck bed. Bishop looked over to Sharky and connected eyes; she nodded at him and he nodded back. They waited for their driver to kill the engine before reaching for the corners of the tarp, easing them free. A second later, the late afternoon sun was shining down in their eyes as they threw the canvas back and emerged with their guns raised.

There were no trucks squealing into sight before them, nor any Peggies on foot coming through the grass from behind. Their driver was trotting back towards them as Boomer, Bishop, and Sharky all leapt free of the truck’s bed and onto solid earth. Taking a moment to exchange thanks with their smuggler, Bishop helped him fold and weigh the tarp down in the truck bed before he loaded back into the cab and started the engine.

By the time he was back on the road headed for Fall’s End, Bishop and Sharky were tailing Boomer through the tall grass off of the roads, taking care to remain out of sight.

“Alright!” Sharky finally broke the silence, though still fairly subdued for him. “Boshaw and Bishop, back in action! The Terrible Twosome!”

“Terrible Threesome,” she amended as she looked to Boomer; the dog barked warmly at her, as if in affirmation.

“…sure,” Sharky said slowly. “Anyway, we’re back together at last! Ready to go kick some Peggie ass!”

“We will, Sharky,” she assured him. “But first, we gotta cross the Henbane.”

“Aw right! Back on my home turf!” Sharky cheered, practically dancing across the field.

Bishop couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. If there was one thing Sharky was a master at, it was alleviating tension; she still felt on edge, wanting nothing more to look over her shoulder every few seconds, but his playfulness was helping to settle some of her nerves.

“Man, when we finish up your business at the jail, we should take a day and just veg out on my couch!” he offered up.  “Watch some movies, drink some beer, smoke wee-”

He caught himself a second too late.

“Oh shit – I keep forgetting you’re a cop! Uh, just forget that last part! Weed, I don’t have any weed! Who mentioned weed-”

It took all her strength to stop herself from bursting out laughing, instead reining it down into a quiet chuckle. There was no one else in the world that could make her laugh like Sharky Boshaw did – he alone held that distinct honor. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be so immature and silly; it set the right tone for their lengthy trek to the Henbane and she found herself running up to hip check him while he was caught off guard, sending him stumbling to the ground. Laughing fully, she sprinted away to avoid retaliation, even as he forced himself up onto his feet and took off after her, Boomer nipping at his heels.

* * *

 

The sun was just beginning to set as Sharky and Bishop neared the Hebane River. Their horsing around had only lasted for so long, dissolving entirely as they neared several outposts and were forced to sneak around. Even Sharky had the decency to realize being spotted by any one of the Peggie strongholds would not fare well for them and had obeyed Bishop’s silent commands to follow her safely around them. It had set them back by an hour at least but safety seemed more important than making good time.

At least, it seemed that way…until the first radio call came crackling through.

Their party was just passing the grain elevator - Bishop regaling Sharky with her adventure of busting out the Widowmaker from lockup there - when she was cut short by the explosion of static at her hip.  

“THEY’RE COMING FROM THE WEST!” Mary May’s voice crackled through the radio, accompanied by deafening gunfire. “INTO POSITION!”

Bishop felt her heart stop as she and Sharky both jolted to a halt. Boomer whined in confusion as the two shared an uncomfortable glance.

 _You knew this was coming,_ she reminded herself. _It’s why you left – now help them by doing what you’re supposed to do._

Clutching the strap of her rifle, she held it tighter as she set a brisk pace, letting Boomer take the lead as they hoofed it towards the bridge that would lead them over the river.  They just needed to hurry – Henbane territory was so close, all they needed to do was nab a car or ATV and make it to the jail. But by that time, what sort of damage would Fall’s End have suffered? What would still be left standing of the town by the time help could even arrive?

Abruptly, Bishop turned on her heel and faced the way they came, very nearly crashing into Sharky lagging just behind.

“Dep?” he asked in confusion.

“C’mon,” Bishop merely said as she pushed past him and took off running.

Ignoring Sharky’s shouted questions, she led the way back down the road. All she could focus on was the sound of her boots pounding on the pavement and the hammering of her heart between her ribs.

 _This is a bad fucking idea_.

She was well aware of that fact; this was undoubtedly one of the most reckless and foolish endeavors she would have ever attempted. Still, it didn’t deter her in the least as she blazed a trail back towards Green-Busch Fertilizer, reaching to turn her walkie off and ignore the sounds of the battle being waged over Fall’s End.

By the time Sharky had caught up, gasping for air, Bishop was already in the midst of recon, peering through her binoculars at the sniper posted on the scaffolding above the roof.

“Dep…,” Sharky wheezed, trying to remain as quiet as he possibly could, “What…are we doing here?”

“Misdirection,” she supplied simply, not tearing her eyes from the Peggies milling about carelessly.

“…what?” Sharky asked after he took another moment to catch his breath.

Bishop ignored him as she put her binoculars away. Reaching for her gear pack at her waist, she pulled out her silencer and screwed it onto the sniper rifle laid out before her. Sharky could only watch in confusion as she put her eye to her scope and lined up her shot with the sentry on the roof.

“Get ready to move,” she told him as she watched the other sniper yawn from his post. “There’s two down the hill – take your pick.”

Sharky held his shotgun close as he moved towards the guards she mentioned, still mumbling questions to himself as he shuffled off. Bishop waited for his noise to recede before she held her breath and moved her crosshairs over the sniper’s heart. Her shot connected silently and she watched as blood spurt from his chest; he didn’t even have a moment to look surprised, keeling over instantly and tumbling over the railing.

She didn’t bother watching his body hit the ground. There was a slight commotion as one of his fellow Peggies saw him drop and raced over to investigate. By then, Bishop was already down by the front gate, creeping up on the lone Peggie looking at the body of his fallen brethren with silent horror.

Her eyes locked on Sharky, still waiting in cover by the two Peggies she’d assigned him. Nodding to him as she unscrewed the silencer on her rifle, she held her breath and aimed for the closest of the pair. The silence of the outpost was split by the deafening crack of her shot; the Peggie’s head split and he toppled forward none the wiser. His companion didn’t even have a chance to form a shout before Sharky popped out of hiding and blasted him at close range with his shotgun.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bishop watched the Peggie who’d come to investigate the first body; he reacted quickly to the audible sounds of gunfire, jolting upright with his rifle clutched to his chest. He was scared – she could tell that even from afar.

_Perfect._

She was already lined up on the next Peggie trying to sprint to the roof for a better vantage point and picked him off before he could make it 6 paces. Quickly shouldering her rifle, she strode out into the open and unholstered her Beretta. The quaking Peggie took sight of her approaching and stared; as he finally began to think to raise his gun on her, she pointed and fired off a full clip. Not one shot hit him - as she intended - but she landed each close enough to send him scattering, dust kicking up behind him as he hastened for cover. He only thought to place himself behind the closest stack of crates; had she been after his head, he would have been easy pickings.

_Come on…_

Boomer was barking wildly off to the side and Bishop turned as she reloaded her pistol to see another Peggie rounding the corner. She levelled him with two shots to the chest and listened to the scream of some dying Peggie before a shotgun blast silenced him. A moment later, Sharky was hurtling into view, watching the second floor carefully as he shuffled backwards towards Bishop to regroup. The Peggie behind the crates finally fumbled for something at his hip before screaming into the night air.

“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”

_Bingo._

Sharky saw the source of the commotion as he got closer and raised his shotgun. Bishop had to scramble to grab the barrel and force it down before he could line up a shot.

“Dep, he’s gonna give us up!” he protested.

“I know!” Bishop told him.

Sharky gave her a bewildered look; she held his gaze, her eyes steady.

_I’m counting on it…_

“Just trust me,” she insisted. “Keep your ear on the radio!”

Backpedaling to look for new targets, she spotted two Peggies trying to scramble for cover on the second floor near windows. She and Sharky were in the kill zone, she knew, and would have been at an extreme disadvantage had they been pitted against better trained and better prepared fighters. But these men were all green – or at the very least all infected by the contagious panic spreading throughout their ranks. It didn’t matter which: either option suited Bishop just fine.

She took her time lining up shots at the two trying to poke out and fire upon her. They wasted precious ammunition with blind fire while she stood patiently waiting for them to expose their faces. Persistence paid off as she buried a bullet in the shoulder of one, hearing his scream as he fell over. The other tried dragging him to safety as she fired a lazy shot in the general direction of the Peggie with the radio, still cowering in place behind his crates.

“IT’S THE DEPUTY!” He was screaming again, voice breaking with fear. “I SEE HER WITH MY OWN TWO EYES! SHE’S HERE!!!”

 _Good man_ , she thought with a smile.

Reaching for the walkie at her hip, she turned the dial to power it back on. She was greeted with gunfire and swearing but she forced herself to keep an ear on it as she took aim at another Peggie trying to sneak up towards the roof, catching him through the calf with her pistol and sending him plummeting off the ladder he was scaling. Sharky was busy firing at an archer struggling to maintain cover behind a piece of metal being turned into Swiss cheese by his shotgun shells. Bishop whistled for Boomer as a Peggie came charging out at Sharky, baseball bat in hand; he didn’t stand a chance of blocking the dog’s lunge and his scream swiftly shifted to a gurgle as Boomer shook him by the throat.

The noise on the other end of the radio seemed to have died down as the violence escalated in Bishop’s corner of the valley, something that did not escape her notice.

“They…they’re retreating!” she could hear Mary May’s tone of disbelief across the line. “Jerome, they’re falling back!”

Bishop felt her heart rate accelerate as a thrill of terror and excitement coursed through her veins. Racing back to Sharky, she grabbed him by the arm and tugged.

“C’mon, time to go.”

“What?!” he demanded, digging in his heels. “We go through all the trouble of springing this place and we’re turning tail-”

“SHARKY!” she insisted, silencing him quickly. “Please, just trust me!”

Swallowing down the rest of his argument, she watched the fire die in his eyes as he obeyed and wordlessly fell in line behind her. Whistling sharply to Boomer, she led the retreat out into open farmland. They took advantage of the tall grass and slipped into cover, crouching as they raced south and away from the commotion of the outpost. When their cover ran out, Bishop motioned for Sharky to follow her up the hilly terrain to the tallest knoll available.

They scrambled up together and she yanked Sharky down by the arm to lie down on his belly beside her. He barely had a moment to gather his bearings before she was shoving her binoculars into his chest. She whipped the rifle off her back and peered into the scope, putting the outpost back into her line of sight.

“What the hell am I looking for?” Sharky demanded before she grabbed him by the chin and moved his eyes in the direction she was facing.

Together, they watched the road in silence. For a good thirty seconds, there was nothing: just the distant shouts of the few stragglers left alive and trying to regroup. Just as she was beginning to think she’d made a grave miscalculation, she spotted the glare of headlights from up the road.

 “Holy shittt!” Sharky murmured beside her.

They watched in relative silence as a convoy of vehicles arrived on the scene; truck after truck driving up to the outpost and braking on squealing wheels. There were at least nine vehicles, each holding at least 3 or 4 men a piece. Bishop observed and counted them as they all emptied from their trucks and spread out to form a perimeter.

_28, 29, 30…At least._

Two and a half dozen soldiers, not including however many were left still licking their wounds in the outpost. Against just she, Sharky, and Boomer…it would have been Red’s Farm Supply all over again.

“Deputy…,” Sharky whispered from beside her.

She ignored him, eyes still on the road and as she retraced their routes.

_At least half of them came from Fall’s End…_

Swallowing thickly, she looked back at the crowd of people. They had regrouped by the gate and were taking orders from some designated leader; she watched as they dispersed again, heading out further than the outpost’s borders. Sooner or later they’d branch out their way…

“Alright, let’s go,” she said quietly to Sharky.

They inched backwards on their stomachs until they were on the other side of the hill and out of the line of sight before starting their descent. Boomer led the way, picking through the rocky ground for solid footing as Bishop and Sharky followed single-file.

“Why are we heading south?” Sharky whispered, surprisingly tactful. “I thought-”

“They’re gonna block the bridges,” she told him. “We have to wait before we can cross.”

For once, Sharky didn’t question her and fell into uncharacteristic silence. Once they’d safely reached flat ground, Bishop took off running, letting him fall in behind her as she kept her eyes on the tree line.

She didn’t have any real destination in mind as they slipped through the fields and trees lining the route south – all she knew was that they had to keep out of sight and put as much ground as possible between the fertilizer plant and themselves. There were a number of abandoned places she’d checked out on previous scavenging runs that would be suitable for a night’s stay; she was counting on them still being deserted…otherwise, they’d all be in for a rude awakening.

“What, we heading for old man Redler’s place?” Sharky finally spoke up.

“…no,” she answered slowly, having not even considered him as an option. “The Miller’s place or Adam’s Ranch is closer.”

The old veteran would probably open his door to them, sure; he’d made mention of how Bishop reminded him of some soldiers he knew back in ‘Nam when she first was introduced to him. He’d always looked upon her fondly when she’d returned with one of the lighters he’d sent her off looking for…but she didn’t want to risk his safety, not when they were still dealing with some pretty intense heat. She’d rather be sure the forces back at Green-Busch hadn’t found a trail to follow before setting foot under the roof of anyone willing to shelter them.

They ghosted across the bridge leading towards the Miller’s abandoned residence and found no signs of Peggie or Resistance activity. Still, Bishop felt uneasy there; it was too straight of a shot from the fertilizer plant. She urged Sharky onward and they headed west across the other bridge towards Adam’s Ranch. It was under Resistance control again and should be free of Peggies…but Bishop was still worried about dragging anyone else into John’s crosshairs. Besides, its position was squarely against the forest and mountains that bordered; if they were followed and ambushed, they’d have nowhere to run except into the wilderness in the dead of night.

Hyde’s Barn, however, was not far away and was perched close the river. It had several escape routes they could easily manage that would lead them north or west, back through farmland and acres of residential properties. Ignoring Sharky’s tired grumbling, she led the way towards the barn, taking care to watch and listen to Boomer for signs of any unwelcome guests coming to join their party.

They reached the barn without incident and Bishop tried allowing Sharky to go set up their sleeping arrangements while she secured a perimeter. He adamantly refused, however, still clinging to the self-assigned duty of keeping her in his sight at all times. Rather than argue with him, she relented and let him lag behind her as she and Boomer scoped out the surrounding area.

Once she was certain they weren’t facing an imminent surprise attack, she led the way back to the sturdy barn. Kenny Hyde was still taking shelter in Fall's End as far as she knew; she had a feeling he wouldn't object to them claiming sanctuary on his property if they didn't bring any Peggies trailing in after them. The barn would offer less comfortable accommodations than either of the homes they’d previously passed on their journey but that didn’t bother Bishop too much; after years of running away to live on the streets, she knew how to make do with less than satisfactory sleeping arrangements. There was still straw and hay bundled off to the side that she wasted no time in scattering across the hard, cold floor; while Sharky grumbled and groaned as he tried finding a comfortable spot, Bishop pulled off her button down and folded it to pillow behind her head. Boomer had built his own nest at her side and she was content to nestle a hand deep in his fur and give him reassuring pets.

Everything was quiet…and that only made it all the more difficult for Bishop to calm down enough to even contemplate sleep. There were still traces of adrenaline in her veins, keeping her heart pounding wildly as she listened for any and every sound outside that might signify a Peggie capture party trying to catch the drop on them.

Or maybe the hammering of heart also had something to do with just how quickly those forces from Fall’s End diverted to Green-Busch. There was only one real explanation as for why: that Peggie had explicitly said she was there leading the assault. Only John could and would have sent a large portion of his men out there knowing she was still in the area. And the fact that he was willing to abandon Fall’s End completely in favor of trying to run her down…

She forced her eyes shut, willing such thoughts away. It was already hard enough focusing on her objectives without her traitorous heart practically swooning at the thought of John expending so many resources and men to try and hunt her down. The silence that had settled in the barn and in the night air around them should have been a comfort – and yet it made Bishop feel all the more unsettled.

“Man oh man…,” Sharky finally broke the silence.

Bishop cracked open an eye to look at him questioningly.

“I thought John had it bad for you before…,” he offered up. “But this is next level, yo.”

Trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in her stomach, she rolled on her side and away from his prying eyes.

“I’m just saying…if you’d fuck him-”

“GOODNIGHT,” she proclaimed as loudly as she dared, covering her flushed face with her button up.  

* * *

 

The next morning came far too soon. Bishop hadn’t slept well, prepared for an ambush at any given moment.  Sharky, for his part, had slept like a rock – so well, in fact, he ended up sleeping through his turn on watch. As annoyed as Bishop had been, they had been left undisturbed and she was awake to keep an eye on things; she’d swallowed her ire and decided to let it be until morning came. By then, however, she was struggling with applying fresh bandages to her wrists and Sharky had helpfully stepped in without being asked.

 _You get a free pass this time…,_ she’d thought rather softly, none of her previous anger still present.

Afterwards, they’d cleaned up their camp and set back west once more. There was no point in checking the bridges over the Henbane just yet: Bishop knew that if they weren’t blockaded they were at least being watched. It wasn’t safe…give it a few days and then they’d head back that way.

Fall’s End wasn’t an option either. They had left to protect it – going back now would put them right back at square one. Still, Bishop had radioed in to talk with Mary May and Jerome and fill them in.

“It’s so good to hear your voice, Deputy. We heard about Green-Busch,” Mary May said once she’d been handed the radio. “We feared the worst at first…but it was fairly quiet all over the valley for the rest of the night. We knew they hadn’t gotten ahold of you.”

“They certainly tried,” she said, sidestepping the reason for why she’d been spotted there altogether. “Listen, I’m sorry about not making it to the jail. I just figure if I try to go now-”

“-someone’s bound to be waiting for you along the river,” Mary May agreed. “Don’t fret, Deputy. We can dig in a little while longer. By then, some of our fighters should be making their way back to Fall’s End.”

Bishop hoped she was right. While she didn’t think the town would be under the kind of barrage it was the night before, she still worried about John’s motives. He could easily crush them if he decided to send all his forces in at once…and while he’d made it clear he was still focused on flushing her out and catching her in his snare again, just how long would that interest last?

She didn’t like dwelling on the small spark of disappointment such a question ignited in her chest.

After ending her call with Mary May, Bishop started cycling through several frequencies as she promised she would. Anyone who had contact with Fall’s End would able to reach her securely on those lines. But she still couldn’t help herself from listening in to the police line she’d operated almost exclusively on before; she heard the pleas for help that came through from those cut off from the Resistance and felt her heart ache.

Peggies had formed a blockade near Rae Rae’s, could the Deputy please respond? There was a pair of mountain lions eating the livestock of the Sheltons and growing bolder, could the Deputy please come and help? Joshua Beck had been shot through the calf in a skirmish with a capture party, could the Deputy please come assist?

She sat and listened to them silently, feeling ill at the fear and desperation of the speakers trying to reach out to her. It was safer for everyone in the long run to remain off the channel, to not broadcast on a compromised line. There was no guarantee that John himself was listening in, especially not every moment, but any number of Peggies could be, just waiting for her to commit and ambush her in route.

She had been listening quietly to the broken sobs of one miss Peggy Harold, whose husband Bob had been missing for two days now, most likely taken during a reaping.

“-Deputy, please!” the woman sobbed over the line, “Please, if you can hear this, please answer me. Please send help. You have to find Robert, you just gotta. Our grandchildren are waiting for him to come home-“

She felt pain in her hand and looked down to see her nails had bitten into her flesh as she clenched her fingers into a fist at her side. Her knuckles were white, a sharp contrast to the red leaking out from between each finger. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment before reaching for the walkie at her hip.

“Mrs. Harold, this line is no longer in use,” she said. “Reach out to Fall’s End for assistance. That being said, someone will be along shortly to help with your problem, over.”

“Oh, Deputy! Thank you, thank you!” the woman all but wept on the other side.

Bishop declined to note on the premature nature of her gratitude, deciding to be tactful instead and merely remind her to contact Fall’s End. She was hooking her walkie back on her belt loop when it crackled to life again.

“Deputy.”

She froze, hand hovering over her hip. Of all the times he could have been listening in-?!

“Deputy Bishop,” John Seed’s voice crooned through the receiver. “How are you?”

She considered not replying but her tongue got the better of her.

“This line is for official police use only,” she reproached. “If you have an emergency, please direct your call to the local dispatch number.”

“You sound well,” was his amused response a moment later.

“All things considered,” she said back simply, shrugging her shoulders for only Sharky and Boomer to see.

Sharky, for his part, looked wholly alarmed by the conversation being held and was staring wide-eyed at Bishop. She tried her best to ignore the weight of his stare as she listened intently to John on the other end of the line.

“We were so rudely interrupted the other day,” he said. “If you’d be so kind as to give me your location, we can send an escort-“

“No,” she cut him off quickly, not ready for any banter.

She could hear his sigh of disappointment.

“Deputy…,” he chided. “You were _so close_ to atonement...”

“Well, that was then and this is now,” she said. “Had a chance to think things over a bit and decided cult life’s still not for me.”

“Deputy-“

“You know me better than that,” she rebuked right back, “I’m a fighter, remember?”

He hummed audibly on the other end of the line.

“I hadn’t forgotten…still…”

Bishop’s brow furrowed in confusion as he trailed off.

“Your friends hustled you out of here so quickly…in their haste, they left something behind…”

Her eyes widened. She tried swallowing but found her throat had seized up; she knew full well where this was going…

“I _know_ just how much this means to you, Anna,” he said. “I want to return it to you.”

She had a distinct feeling he had her father's badge in his hands even now as they spoke; it didn't take much imagination to picture him with one hand holding the radio he was speaking into and the other around the shiny gold star, thumb tracing the worn path she'd made over the shield in the center.  

“Yeah?” she rasped weakly after a moment.

“Meet with me and I’ll give it to you.”

The radio in her hand shook ever so slightly as she thought long and hard over what to say in response. She knew in her heart what she wanted to reply with…it just went against everything she stood for. Sharky abruptly ripped the walkie from her hand, sparing her from answering. She was left gaping at him as he stomped off.

“Sorry, Johnny,” he said briskly, “Dep’s gonna take a hard pass on jail time again.”

Bishop ran after him, swiping for the walkie as he danced out of her grasp.

“What are you doing?!” she demanded fiercely, “Give me that back! SHARKY!”

“This is for your own good!” Sharky insisted, holding the radio well over his head where she couldn’t possibly reach. “Let me handle this guy!”

“No!” Bishop angrily replied. “Give it back!”

“Boshaw…,” John drawled over the line. “I believe the adults were speaking.”

“Listen here, I’m older than both you horndogs,” Sharky was saying, even as Anna was lunging at him. “And as elder, I’m telling you to keep it in your pants and go bother someone else.”

“Sharky, I WILL KILL YOU!” she hissed. “Give me the radio!”

“This is for your own good!” he insisted again, putting a hand out to shove her away.

“Boshaw, I have no desire to speak with you,” John’s annoyed voice reached Bishop’s ears from far above her head. “Either put the Deputy back on or stop wasting my time.”

“Way ahead of ya, Johnny,” Sharky said as he cranked the radio off.

“SHARKY!” Bishop snapped. “Why the fuck did you do that?!”

“What, stop you from handing yourself back over to him?!” he demanded, shocking her by his show of backbone. “We just fought like hell to save you and now you’re seriously considering walking into some other trap he’s setting?! The hell’s the matter with you?”

Bishop could only blink, unable to form a fitting response.

“You…you don’t understand…,” she said weakly.

“What?” he insisted, “He’s got something of yours that’s worth your freedom? You’re right, I don’t understand!”

For a moment, she could only give him a pained stare.

“He has my father’s sheriff’s badge,” she finally told him. “My mother and father were both murdered a long time ago – it’s all I had left of my dad.”

She didn’t take any pleasure in watching the surprise on Sharky’s face morph into horror. A long, uncomfortable pause followed as he stared at her in shock.

“Jesus, Dep,” he said slowly, now looking anywhere else but at her. “I had no idea…I’m sorry…”

She merely shrugged, trying to not to show any hurt.

“It is what it is,” she said simply.

Her eyes looked to his guilty expression and she felt her chest tighten; licking her suddenly dry lips, she tried searching for the right words.

“I should have told you a long time ago…I should have remembered to tell you to grab it before we left. It’s all on me.”

Sharky finally snapped his gaze back to her.

“Bullshit!” he argued. “That fuckface John Seed is to blame for taking it from you in the first place!”

She smiled weakly at him; he was reasserting the same thing Hudson had told her just hours before. Still, she found it hard to lay the blame fully on John.

 _If you hadn’t fucked up that escape attempt in the first place, you wouldn’t have lost it and John would have never gained possession of it_ , a voice reminded her.

It was probably true. But how different would things have gone if she had managed to escape when she’d first been brought down there? Escaping a chair was one thing – could she have made it out of the bunker at all? And with Hudson?

As awful as things had gone, it actually seemed like the best case scenario. She and Hudson had escaped together, with a handful of other prisoners in tow. No way could she have accomplished that all on her own!

And yet…it had come at a cost. A deeply personal one. She was forced to open up to John Seed and let him get inside her head. And by the time she was pulled from his bunker, the damage was already done. He still had her in his grasp, in a sense: she would never fully escape him. She could think of little else except for her time spent with him – the memories and secrets they’d shared, the taunts and jibes they’d exchanged…the look on his face right before he kissed her…

Turning abruptly from a startled Sharky, Bishop fisted her hands in her hair as her face burned hot. God, why did he have to do that?! It would have made things so much fucking easier if he kept his lips to himself! She was certain her brain wouldn’t be obsessing over him to the extent it was if he hadn’t proclaimed she was meant to be by his side and then kissed her over and over and over…

“Uh….Dep?” Sharky probed gently, sounding wary. “You alright…?” 

She fought down the instinct to immediately assure him she was fine, to bury down the memory and her emotions in a place no one else could find. The truth was…she wanted to tell Sharky. She wanted to unburden herself of that terrible secret, to have someone to confide in of the absolute mental warfare John had unleashed on her.

God, he really had done a number on her – in the past, she _never_ would have been tempted to share such knowledge with anyone else. Just another secret to add to the pile of terrible things she planned to take to her grave…but then John had gone and cracked her. And suddenly it seemed she had no secrets left for herself.

Telling Hudson had been out of the question; aside from Mary May, her partner seemed to have the most hatred for John Seed out of anyone in the entire county. She’d never fess up to Nick or Kim about such an intimate moment with their enemy…nor would she ever seek counsel from Pastor Jerome on that kind of matter. They all looked at her like she was some kind of angel of the Resistance, fully dedicated to the cause.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t still committed to liberating Hope County – that very much remained her goal. But if they knew the things that had transpired between John and herself…she felt they’d look at her in a whole new light. And while she hadn’t asked to be put up on a pedestal, the thought of falling from it was enough to make her feel ill. She didn’t want their hopeful, warm faces to turn to disgust and suspicion; it was almost more than she could bear.

Sharky, however, was another matter entirely. She felt he was the only person she could tell…simply because she sensed he would offer no judgment. There were things he had told her about himself that were less than savory – any mention of his piss bottle collection alone left her reeling – but he’d braved any revulsion and scorn she might have shown him time and time again with every new piece of himself he shared. He was her best friend, and if she couldn’t tell him-

Blinking in shock, she could only gape for a moment. _Best friend…_ it was true, try as she might for so long to deny it. It was a frightening notion, simply because people she got close to ended up hurt or worse. Hudson had endured torture…Pratt was still suffering god knows what in the Whitetails…her parents…

Still, Sharky had weathered everything the cult had thrown at them thus far, and he was still no worse for wear. And he’d been so earnest and trusting with his secrets to her…it was only right.

“Sharky, you’d better sit down for this,” she sighed as she meandered towards the nearby fence and dropped down into the grass to lean against it.

Slowly, he complied, eyeing her warily as he sank down beside her. She took a minute to straighten out her thoughts and steel her courage, running her hands through Boomer’s fur nervously. Inhaling and exhaling sharply, she turned to face Sharky with a deadly serious expression.

“What I’m about to tell you stays between you and me – got it?” she said. “I need your word you’ll take it with you to the grave. You can’t tell _anyone_.”

She wasn’t sure if she needed to lay it on so thick or not – one could never tell with Sharky. But she had a sinking suspicion if she didn’t stress how important it was he maintained his silence, he’d go blabbing to Hurk the first chance he got. A look of surprise appeared on Sharky’s face before it was replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness.

“Alright, Dep…,” he agreed after a moment. “Lay it on me.”

She stared at him for a long pause, as if she could somehow judge his candor that way; finally, she sighed and turned her gaze from him as she felt her nerves return all at once. Willing them away, she stared off into the distance as she started to speak.

“When I was down in the bunker…I was forced to ‘confess’ to John. Had to ‘expose all my sins’ and get the tattoo, you know that much. Told him my life’s story, virtually: every secret, every pain, every hardship…He now knows it all.”

Sharky’s gaze was heavy upon her, yet she couldn’t bring herself to look upon him in return. If she did, she knew she would lose all nerve and never be able to finish.

“He told me a little about his own past,” she said softly. “It might surprise you to know how very alike he and I are…we both suffered some pretty terrible abuse as children. And we’ve…well, we’ve come to understand each other a bit better and…”

Her cheeks burned hot as she tried to speak around her thickening tongue.

“…and just before you and Nick busted in…John…he, uh…he…kissed me…”

For a moment, the silence was so deafening Bishop was overwhelmed with the desire to go bury her head in the dirt.

“…I…KNEW IT!!!”

Sharky almost gave her a heart attack with his outburst; Bishop recoiled to avoid being stepped on as he launched himself to his feet.

“I knew it, I knew it!!!” he repeated giddily. “He DOES want to fuck you!”

Mortification didn’t quite cover her reaction to such a proclamation. She could only sit and stare in shock as he continued bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking both excited and self-satisfied.

“Oh my god, I can’t wait to tell Aunt Addie! She’s gonna flip-”

“NO!” Bishop shouted, finally recovered enough to leap to her feet and grab him by the shoulders. “You can’t tell ANYONE!”

Sharky’s expression deflated instantly.

“But-”

“No buts! You _swore_!” she insisted. “You promised to take it to your grave!”

“But I…,” Sharky stammered before falling silent, seemingly remembering the previous exchange only minutes before. “Oh, alright…”

He looked absolutely dejected for a few seconds.

“Not even…?”

“NO!” Bishop snapped firmly, pointing a finger at him.

“Damn it!” he sighed in defeat.

* * *

 

The point of conversation for the rest of the afternoon remained on John Seed and his interest in Bishop, much to her chagrin. She instantly regretted telling Sharky since it had become his own obsession, raising his energy – and his volume level – to heights previously unknown. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if some passerby could hear Sharky talking about John’s desire to rut her senseless and was spreading it around to their friends already.

 _You just had to share your secret with the biggest loudmouth in the whole county…,_ she chastised herself.

She could only groan and hang her head. It was amazing enough that Sharky had managed to keep his mouth shut during their stop-in at Wendell Redler’s home; she kept eyeing him nervously as he seemed to be vibrating with thinly veiled excitement of his forbidden knowledge. Had he opened his mouth and told the Vietnam vet about her and John, she might have died of embarrassment on the spot.

Surprisingly, he’d held his tongue and they’d set back off with no clear destination in mind. Bishop had effectively boxed them into a very narrow window of choices with her decisions the night before: they couldn’t head back east with all the Peggie patrols that were undoubtedly skulking about, Fall’s End was still a no-go, and anything too far west or northwest was out of the question. Out west lay Seed Ranch and supposedly somewhere north of that lay John’s bunker; Bishop had to be told its general location since she could barely remember a thing after being pulled out from underground and carted off to safety.

Avoiding those places took top priority: on top of being the two highest risk and most heavily guarded areas in all of Holland Valley, their owner and master was still combing his territory for any sign of her. He was making it very difficult to get things done - let alone concentrate on anything else - Bishop noted sourly as they trudged around the Old Silo and looked for a spot to sit down for lunch.

Her radio had remained off for several hours following the conversation with John. As Bishop finished up her cold cut sandwich – which Wendell Redler had graciously given to them – she chanced a glance at Sharky still chewing on his before reaching for her walkie and cranking the power back on. Sharky started at the sound of static and glanced over at her but she had already turned her gaze out towards the open, blue skies and listened on silently.

There wasn’t much chatter on the main police line – not that she expected there to be. She had to wonder just how many people had been listening in to it earlier when she, John, and Sharky had all made a spectacle over the channel; her face flushed hot with embarrassment at the number of tongues probably wagging and spreading the bizarre exchange around. God, she hadn’t even considered that before she told Sharky about the kiss – just how many people were already gossiping about the Junior Deputy and John Seed and whatever was going on between them?!

Desperately looking for anything else to focus on, she listened intently to the next broadcast that came across the feed. There was some sort of problem up by Dodd’s Dump – a group of Resistance fighters trying to reach a prepper stash there had been electrocuted and badly burnt by faulty wiring, would anyone please respond? Making note of the number of individuals, Bishop reached for her radio and spoke into it.

“Callahan, this is Deputy Bishop – I’ll pass along your situation. Over.”

“Oh, thank god,” she heard the man sigh on the other line. “Thank you, Deputy!”

She merely nodded to herself as she asked Sharky to turn his radio on and reach out to Fall’s End. The line went dead for a grand total of five seconds before clicking to life again.

“Heading out to help, Anna?”

Grip on the walkie tightening, she could only flex her other hand and try to will the butterflies away that always seemed to come about whenever she heard John’s voice now. Motioning violently at Sharky sitting there slack jawed, she urged him to get going with communications to Mary May and Jerome while she tried finding a coherent response.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she demanded. “Knowing exactly when and where I’d be? Something tells me you’d have someone waiting there to greet me.”

John merely hummed on the other end of the line.

“It would certainly speed things along,” he said after a moment. “If you won’t turn yourself over willingly, then I’ll do what must be done.”

“Turn myself over willingly?” she parroted with a shake of her head. “That sounds awfully boring – and here I thought you enjoyed someone playing hard to get.”

Momentarily distracted by motion out of the corner of her eye, she looked over towards Sharky who was shaking his head violently. He mimed jerking off and mouthed “ _gets off to that_!” and she felt her face burn with absolute mortification; she almost missed John’s response entirely as she covered her mouth with her other hand.

“We’ve played cat and mouse for so long now, Anna,” he said. “Don’t you feel it’s time to end our little game? Aren’t you tired?”

He knew damn well she was tired of all the fighting and running – she had told him as much during confession. Still, she took a second to try and think of something clever to respond with and found herself coming up emptyhanded.

“You don’t seem to put this much thought and effort towards other Resistance members,” she pointed out sloppily. “I’m sure someone else out there requires your attention more than myself.”

Sharky was giving her thumbs up as he listened to Jerome relaying their rescue efforts for the group at the dump but she found she took little solace in that news in the wake of speaking with John again. She swallowed thickly as she heard him chuckle lightly from his end of the line.

“Oh, Anna,” he said fondly. “Don’t be so modest. You must know that I only have eyes for you.”

It was impossible to ignore the thrill of terror and excitement that spawned in her chest at those words. There was really no other way to interpret what he was saying – even Sharky looked alarmed from where he sat listening in discreetly.

“I-I don’t-” she tried saying.

“ _Oh Montana, give this child a home_ ,” he started rattling off, stunning her into silence. “ _Give him the love of a good family…and a woman of his own…_ ”

She felt her heart flutter dangerously in her chest.

“Do you remember singing that to me?” he asked gently. “I have a home and a loving family. All that’s left…”

Bishop found herself unable to breathe, let alone speak.

“Holy shit…,” Sharky spoke up finally, sounding just as stunned as she felt.

“You…,” she tried recovering but found herself at a complete loss for words.

“I’ve spent my whole life searching for you, Anna,” John continued as she fell silent to listen at rapt attention.  “And now that I’ve finally found you…you must know I can’t let you go.”

_I won’t._

It was unspoken but his tone communicated it as clear as day. She tried swallowing but found her throat dry as a bone, making her almost choke on the reflex.

“Anna-”

The click of the radio turning off silenced the line and John’s voice with it. Bishop’s hands trembled around her walkie, unable to process all the information and emotions racing through her head at mach speed. Had they been arguing, she could have held her ground and squared off with him; but this was unfamiliar territory, affirmations of adoration and obsession…this was when her ‘flight’ response kicked in. Much like it had with Matthew years back.

But her old boyfriend had never been obsessed – not the way John Seed was. She knew her avoidance of him most likely only spurned him on and she felt a thrill of terror and some treacherous spark of excitement at the thought. What else could she possibly do? The only other alternative was marching straight back into his waiting arms and she couldn’t bring herself to do that.

There was an entire county of people depending on her: waiting for her to bring the fight to the cult and beat them back from their doorways. Everything going on around them was much bigger than the kindling of feelings she had for John and his fixation on her. She found herself trying to shelve all those conflicting emotions in the dark, empty space in her chest…but it seemed nonexistent at the moment. There was too much she was feeling all at once, too much chaos – there was no way she could restore any order with the jumbled mess of sensations flooding her chest.

“Sharky,” she finally spoke up, realizing she had been submerged in her thoughts for quite some time. “Turn on your radio and listen for any Resistance chatter.”

“Um…are we really trying to skip over the part where John just told you he’s ready to settle down with you?!” Sharky demanded.

“He didn’t say that!” Bishop protested, wincing as her voice practically squeaked with embarrassment.

“He might as well have!” Sharky insisted. “That bastard even used John Denver against you! Who does he think he is?!”

“I…I did put that in his head, that’s on me,” she answered faintly.

“That was pretty fucking slick on his part, I’m not even gonna lie,” Sharky admitted after a moment. “Like, that was so smooth it almost worked on me, and I’m not even-”

“THE RADIO, SHARKY,” Bishop reminded him as she buried her face in her palms, trying to will away the redness from her cheeks.

“…oh, oh right!” he said, fumbling for the walkie on his belt.

Running her hands up her face and through her hair, Bishop could only inhale and exhale deeply and try to rein back in the wild thoughts and feelings trying their best to leave her a frazzled mess. God, she could really use some stability at the moment – something far removed from John and his radio calls.

“Deputy, you there? This is Nick Rye,” Sharky’s radio erupted with a familiar drawl. “Deputy, if you’re there, please respond. Over.”

Bishop’s head perked up at the sound of Nick’s voice; she dashed over to Sharky and leaned over his walkie to speak.

“Hey, Nick!” she greeted. “Man, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. Over.”

“Likewise, Deputy!” Nick replied cheerfully. “I just got off the line with Fall’s End – they told me how to reach you. I hear you’re still stuck with us in Holland Valley for now. Kim wants you to swing by if you can. Over.”

Ignoring the feeling of warmth that erupted in her chest, she spoke hesitantly back into the receiver.

“...It’s a bit dangerous at the moment,” she offered up slowly. “I wouldn’t want to put either you or Kim in harm’s way.”

“Nonsense!” Nick answered with ease. “We’re in just as much danger here without you – those Peggies are a fucking nightmare wherever you go in the valley. Might as well come over and enjoy some company before they decide to come knocking on the door again.”

Feeling her mouth twist into a lopsided smile, Bishop could only huff out an amused breath of air.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me,” she said. “We’ll be over by 6. Over.”

“Roger that! Oh, and make sure you tell Sharky to leave his shoes at the front door this time. Kim’s still miffed about him tracking cow shit into the house.”

Finally, it was Bishop’s turn to delight at the silent embarrassment on Sharky’s face and she absolutely reveled in it.

 _Vindication!_  

* * *

 

 

"One of these nights   
One of these crazy old nights   
We're gonna find out, pretty mama   
What turns on your lights   
The full moon is calling, the fever is high   
And the wicked wind whispers and moans   
  
You got your demons, You got desires   
Well, I got a few of my own   
  
Ooh, someone to be kind to    
In between the dark and the light   
Ooh, coming right behind you   
Swear I'm gonna find you   
One of these nights   
  
One of these dreams   
One of these lost and lonely dreams   
We're gonna find one   
One that really screams   
  
I've been searching for the daughter of the devil himself   
I've been searching for an angel in white   
I've been waiting for a woman who's a little of both   
And I can feel her but she's nowhere in sight   
  
Ooh, loneliness will blind you   
In between the wrong and the right   
Ooh, coming right behind you   
Swear I'm gonna find you   
One of these nights"

 

_One of These Nights, Eagles _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has left reviews and kudos thus far - it really means the world to me! When i start to lose my focus or start doubting myself, i always have those to come back to and inspire me <3 I'm so pleased with the response and I'm so thrilled to have found so many of you wanting to talk about not just the fic but the game in general - I have to say this has been the best fandom I've been blessed to be a part of and i'm so happy to be in it with all of you <3 <3 <3


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s good to hear your voice, kid. Thought we’d lost you for a while there.”

Dutch would never openly acknowledge he worried or cared about her so she knew that was as close to an admission as she’d ever get. Smiling to herself, she lifted the walkie back up to her face.

“You weren’t the only one,” she agreed. “Don’t know how Nick and the others managed to spring me but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Maybe start acting like it,” he replied tartly. “What the hell were you thinking letting yourself get spotted at the fertilizer plant?! I know you’re smarter than that.”

Flushing profusely at his ire, she could only look down at her feet in shame. She’d gotten so used to him singing her praises that hearing the disappointment and disapproval in his voice was a massive blow to her ego. Dutch was a good man and had served as both her compass and conscience from the very start of her journey; to say he’d become somewhat of a father figure wasn’t that far of a stretch…and letting him down upset her more than it would have for someone else.

“It won’t happen again,” she assured him.

“See that it doesn’t,” was his gruff response.

The silence that followed was physically painful; Sharky was doing his best to avoid looking at her as he stood awkwardly off to the side. She was grateful for his tact – the last thing she wanted was to unwillingly divert all her hurt feelings onto him in a blowout.

“Well, when you have a window, you should try getting out of the Valley,” Dutch finally spoke again. “With John dogging your every step, you’re not doing anybody any good always running from him.”

“Agreed,” she acknowledged. “My intention before was to make it over the Henbane and regroup at the jail – I know a group of fighters took some of John’s other prisoners out that way and Fall’s End could really use their numbers back.”

“I’ve already passed the message along so they should be inbound later in the day,” Dutch said. “Getting over the bridges now might be an issue…but if they break through the roadblocks, it’ll make for an easier time to get you across in a few days’ time.”

“I might have to head into the Whitetails if they still think to patrol those areas,” she conceded. “But I’ll keep in touch with whatever we decide.”

“Alright. Keep your head on a swivel, kid. Dutch out.”

As Bishop attached the walkie back to her belt, Sharky finally turned to give her a cautious look.

“Geez, Dep, that was harsh,” he said sympathetically.

She merely shrugged, trying to bury down the remnants of shame and self-pity that had started welling up from deep inside.

“He’s not wrong,” she said after a second. “I should be more careful, especially after all the trouble you and the others went through to free me.”

Looking over towards Sharky she felt her lips twitch into the makings of a small smile.

“He’s just looking out for me,” she explained.

“He coulda been a bit nicer,” Sharky said as he watched her push off of the stump she’d been resting on and stretch.

“Hey, he’s a grumpy old man,” she said with a shrug. “What else do you expect?”

She and Sharky still lingered by the Old Silo despite its close proximity to Rye & Sons Aviation. The afternoon sun was still high in the sky and it seemed best to put off the trek to Nick and Kim’s home until evening. Traffic on the roads would be lighter then and the chance of being spotted by a Peggie patrol scouting the area was significantly reduced.

They’d never stayed put in one place for too long before now – there was always an inherent risk in doing so outside of somewhere like Fall’s End or the Hope County Jail where there were plenty of other people on guard and forming a perimeter. Bishop knew she probably shouldn’t be so lax when it was just she, Sharky, and Boomer out in the open…but they hadn’t seen anyone since Wendell Redler earlier in the morning and the idleness was driving her a little mad.

As Boomer lay in the shade napping and Sharky had been practicing some kung fu moves he swore were “legitimate” because Hurk taught them to him, she’d cycled through her radio’s frequencies again. Aside from finally making contact with Dutch, she’d also touched base with a Resistance squad scouting out west for prepper stashes she’d marked for Mary May and Jerome, and got a report from the forces still holding down Kellett Cattle Co. of the Peggie activity to the west. From the latter, she was left feeling confident that the cult had no idea where she’d skedaddled off to following the surprise attack at Green-Busch.

Bishop sank to the ground and leaned back against the stump behind her, basking in the warmth of the sun. It was hot – not miserably so, but enough to make her actively sweat – and she couldn’t care less. After so long in the darkness and cold of John’s bunker, she was trying her best not to take the open skies, the sun, the moon, or the stars for granted ever again. She let her eyes slip shut as she listened to the wind whistling through the tall grass nearby and considered how lucky she was to be able to experience it all.

“Hey, Dep…”

Cracking an eye open slowly, Bishop stared at Sharky as he approached cautiously, looking hesitantly optimistic.

“Would you mind if I borrowed your hand cannon?” he asked. “Not to shoot! Just to…y’know, hold it….and-”

_Yeah, right…_

Still, she reached for the Desert Eagle holstered at her side and pulled it free. She considered it seriously for a moment before turning her hard gaze on Sharky.

“Do not. Fire this,” she stressed, drawing out the words slowly.

Sharky’s eyes practically sparkled as he gingerly took the Desert Eagle from her outstretched hand.  She watched him tiptoe off to start practicing his best 80s action hero poses with it; even Boomer lifted his head to watch him as he tried – and failed – to tuck into a roll and emerge in a crouch. Bishop tried her best to keep her laughter quiet as she reached for her walkie and cranked it back to the main channel before setting it aside.

There wasn’t a whole lot to hear aside from mundane chatter from Resistance fighters and civilians coordinating where Peggies had been spotted patrolling and where they were headed. It seemed between Fall’s End and Dutch’s efforts, most of the county had learned to use other channels to communicate for help; it was a welcome relief to not have to worry about dealing with a compromised line…but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit there was a spark of disappointment that flared in her chest as well. She was running out of excuses to keep checking in with that channel…

“Anna, are you there?”

It was a surprise to hear John’s voice - and even more so to hear him sounding so polite and almost…hopeful. It was cute, there was no denying that; Bishop felt herself smile as she reached for her walkie.

“Yes, I’m here. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Just checking in on my favorite deputy.”

Chancing a glance over at Sharky to make sure his attention was still focused elsewhere, she settled more comfortably into the grass beneath her.

“Still alive and kicking,” she said simply. “But somehow I don’t think that will be enough to satisfy you.”

He hummed in agreement.

“I miss our talks,” he told her frankly. “I wanted to hear your voice.”

“But I already confessed my sins,” she told him cheekily. “I don’t have anything left to tell you.”

“We talked of a great number of things. Faith, family, freedom…and you used to sing for the others,” he reminded her.

“I suppose I did,” she acknowledged, surprised he hadn’t taken the opportunity to nettle her about Mark, Laura, Trish, and Hannah.

“You never sang for me,” he said after a moment.

“Did too,” she replied far too quickly, feeling heat in the apples of her cheeks. “You even used that John Denver song against me just hours ago.”

“You weren’t at your strongest then,” he said and she could almost feel his smile from his tone of voice. “I’d like an actual performance from you.”

Bishop looked guiltily over at Sharky, still blissfully unaware of anything beyond the Desert Eagle he was brandishing at some invisible enemies beyond the fencing, complete with fake gunshot noises.

“Maybe someday,” she offered up after a minute.

“Not alone, hm?” he guessed correctly. “Let me guess…Sharky Boshaw.”

He practically spit the name out, not bothering to hide his disdain; she felt a frown tug at her lips.

“Maybe I’m just not in the mood for singing,” she replied evenly, trying not to let her irritation show. “Besides, I tend to like to give my ‘performances’ in person.”

“Perfect. Let’s set up a time and place.”

She let out a short huff of laughter, shaking her head at his tenacity.

“Keep dreaming,” she answered.

“You know I’ll have you back with me eventually,” he said. “It’s all just a matter of when.”

“My, aren’t we confident,” she replied.

“It’s happened twice already,” he reminded her gleefully. “And you know what they say: third time’s the charm…”

She shivered at the implications there: _you won’t escape me a third time. I’ll make sure of that._

“It just would be so much better for everyone if you came to me willingly this time,” he followed up with as she remained in contemplative silence. “You know…”

She wasn’t sure if she liked how he trailed off like that  - or how she was left wanting to hear more.

“…I still think a great deal about the last time we were face to face.”

Butterflies exploded in her stomach as her brain conjured up the scene of him kissing her again. She was thankful he couldn’t see how red her face was, or how flustered she was trying to come up with some kind of quick response to that.

“And it makes me wonder…how often you think of it too…”

She swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat and steeled her nerve.

“Think of what?” she asked defiantly.

He just laughed, not falling for her bravado play.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he whispered conspiratorially and she hated how she actually leaned in closer to cling to his every word. “I know you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“Funny, it didn’t leave that much of an impression on me,” she replied, though it came out weaker than intended.

He hummed in amusement and she knew he didn’t believe her for a second.

“Why don’t you come on back? And I can see about fixing that…”

Despite the wild fluttering of her heart, she grounded herself with the thought of that cold, terrifying bunker and held her ground.

“That’s not happening.”

“What would it take for me to see you again?”

“Turn yourself in,” she offered up casually. “I promise I’ll visit you in prison.”

He laughed heartily, the sound pleasing to the ear; she felt warmth blossom in her chest and had to fight the smile threatening to emerge on her face.

“Aside from that,” he amended after a moment.

Bishop felt the spark of joy extinguish instantly; she swallowed down the bitter taste that had formed in her mouth.

“There is no middle ground here,” she said softly. “If we win, you and your family are going to prison. If you win, you’ll imprison me. Lose-lose…”

“It doesn’t have to be imprisonment, Anna,” he told her urgently. “If you come back to me now, I promise you’ll be given freedom.”

“Really?” she said, tone dripping with skepticism.

“Trust goes both ways,” he admitted after a second. “You’ll have to earn certain privileges.”

“Oh, so a gilded cage?” she said, resting her chin in her hand. “Only it’s not even gilded – I’m stuck down in a dark, dingy bunker and expected to be happy about it…”

She could feel him sighing even if he didn’t let the radio pick up the sound of it.

“It’s-”

“-for my protection. I keep hearing this but I’m not sold on it yet,” she said sourly. “Y’know, I didn’t feel awful protected when I was getting the shit beat out of me by your guys down there…”

As if on cue, the healing bruises on her abdomen pulsed to remind her of their presence. Her face was in better shape, barely hurting at all but still tinged with a faded yellow smear along her jaw. At the rate she was going, there would eventually come a time when she attained an injury she couldn’t recover from…and then what would anyone do then?

“They were all properly dealt with,” John assured her after a pause. “But you have to understand, Anna, your Wrath is contagious. It spread to them…its spread to me. Until you free yourself from it, you’ll continue to infect everyone you come across with it.”

“Infect?” she demanded sharply. “I’m diseased now, am I?”

“Sin _is_ a disease of the mind and soul,” he continued. “You can overcome it. With my help, I can free you from its grasp.”

“You know I’m nothing but rage,” she told him quietly, feeling a rising tide of despair and hurt surging from within. “Free me from it? There’ll be nothing left of me.”

“That’s not true,” he cut in quickly. “You are more than just raw anger. Joy, humor, love: I saw it all with my own eyes.”

He was laying it on thick…but damn if it wasn’t effective. She wanted to believe in his words, so very desperately.

“You make it sound so easy,” she admitted with a sigh.

 _So tempting…_ , she realized, but kept that thought to herself.

“I’ve faced this struggle myself, Anna. I know how hard it can be. Let me help you.”

“I just don’t-“

The ear shattering “BANG” and Sharky’s yell cut her off; she just had enough time to whip her gaze up to see him laid flat out on his back.

“JESUS!” she exclaimed before scrambling to her feet, heart hammering fearfully in her chest. “Oh my god, Sharky!!!”

He was still lying supine as she reached his side, the Desert Eagle smoking from where it was still clutched tightly in his hands. There was a shocked and dazed look on his face that she knew came from the kick back of the gun firing, not from being hit by a bullet; still, she searched him over frantically just to be sure.

“Are you alright?” she demanded as she prodded him. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“…y-yeah,” he finally spoke up. “I’m okay.”

When she was certain he wasn’t hurt, she let out a shaky sigh of relief, feeling the fear bleed quickly from her system. It was just as soon replaced with a wave of anger as she glared at the gun in his hands.

“What the fuck did I say about firing this?!” she snarled as she snatched it out of his hands. “You’re fucking lucky you didn’t get hit by ricochet!”

He just lay there looking guilty and she tore her gaze from him as she tried reining in her fury. The walkie in her other hand was crackling with activity that she only now could take the time to acknowledge.

“-Anna, answer me-”

John’s voice was tight with tension and she realized she’d left him hanging on the other end of the line following the pistol going off.

“Yeah, what?” she asked grumpily.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, glaring at Sharky as he seemed to slowly realize who she was conversing with and started staring; she turned her back on him as she stomped clear of his hearing range. “Just a stupid accident...”

“I’m aware that Boshaw is prone to those,” John warned. “It’d be in your best interest to part ways with him sooner rather than later.”

She let out a bark of curt laughter.

“Yeah, sure,” she said dismissively.

“His stupidity will get you killed.”

“You’re not allowed to say that.”

“He is a danger. You’re not blind to that-”

“No!” she snapped as she cut him off. “Don’t call him stupid!”

There was a long pause from John’s end.

“I seem to recall you just now calling his actions stupid,” he answered slowly.

“That’s not the same,” she told him sharply. “When you say it, it’s only to be mean and spiteful. I’m his friend – I’m allowed to call him out on his bullshit because he knows I’m just looking out for him.”

“I thought you said you don’t have friends,” he shot back hotly. “And _I’m_ looking out for you. That brainless moron is the biggest threat to you in this entire county.”

She snorted derisively.

“Well I guess I lied to you before. And that ‘brainless moron’ was one of the masterminds in busting me out of your bunker,” she ground out.  “So dwell on that.”

She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she cranked her radio off. How typical of John: they’d been on the edge of something friendly – at times _dangerously_ flirtatious - and he had to go and ruin it by running his mouth. Maybe it was for the best: he was on the verge of getting her to open up to him again and she was alarmed at just how easily he managed to do that. He hadn’t needed her tied to a chair and completely at his mercy anymore – all he had to do now was keep talking long enough and he had her lowering her defenses.

A scowl was etched onto her face as Sharky crept up cautiously, eyeing her warily and yet positively brimming with energy.

“You done talking to your boyfriend?” he asked cheekily.

“He’s NOT my boyfriend!” she snapped, enraged at how easily her face flushed even in the wake of her anger.

“Uh huh…,” he said, sounding unconvinced.

Bishop was not in the mood to deal with his teasing and innuendos; she prayed fervently that just for once in his life, Sharky would read the room and know to drop it.

“Hear me out: all it would take-”

_Why would he learn to start now?_

“-is for you to lure him out into the woods somewhere and just, give him a good time, and bail! I think he would just chill the fuck out if we got him laid.”

“Sharky, I do NOT want to talk about John Seed right now.”

“It has to be you, though, since you’re the one he’s got a raging hard-on for-”

“-he called you stupid!”

“...what?!”

It derailed his train of thought as effectively as she hoped it would; Sharky’s eyes reflected his hurt and she felt bad for dealing such a low blow. But if it kept him from talking about her and John…

“John called you stupid,” she told him truthfully. “He thinks you’ll get me killed out here before any Peggies will. He called you a brainless moron.”

“…fucking prick!” Sharky growled to himself, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt angrily.

He finally fell silent but it was a hollow victory for Bishop; she couldn’t stand feeling his hurt and anger across the tense hush that had fallen between them and hated herself for using John’s words against him.

“Do you think that?”

Bishop turned a tired stare on him.

“Think what?” she demanded with a heavy sigh.

“That I’m stupid.”

The soft, defeated way he said it made her anger melt away in an instant, replaced by a wave of sadness sweeping over. Enough people tell you you’re stupid and you start to believe it; she had to believe Sharky was one of those unlucky folks who heard nothing but hurtful, disparaging remarks for a majority of their lives.

“You do plenty of dumb shit, Sharky,” she told him gently. “But you’re not stupid.”

She watched him pull his gaze up from his feet to stare searchingly into her face. Slowly, a smile stretched back across his face.

“That’s about one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about me,” he admitted softly.

Bishop felt her heart ache – torn between affection and outrage.

“That’s terrible, Sharky,” she told him honestly.

He didn’t look too upset, already regaining some of his vim and vigor as he bounced on his heels. She could only offer him a half-smile, wondering just how he managed to bounce back so quickly at everything life threw his way. 

“I feel a hug coming on,” Sharky announced loudly.

Bishop quickly leveled him with a withering stare.

“Yeah, no,” she said quickly.

“C’mon!” he said with a smile as he approached with his arms spread wide.

“No!” she insisted, though she made no move to avoid him as he drew closer; she gave a deep, exaggerated sigh. “…alright, make it fast.”

Sharky enveloped her in a crushing embrace that filled her nose with the scent of his beer soaked sweatshirt. She kept her head turned so he couldn’t see her smile as he rocked them both back and forth on the spot. After a few seconds, she relented and wrapped her arms around him in return, patting him on the back awkwardly.

“Alright, alright!” she said. “That’s enough of that.”

He released her with a cheeky grin and she found she didn’t bother trying to hide the smile forming on her lips in response.

“I don’t see why a hug would be such a big deal when you held my hand just the other night,” he teased her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said as she crossed her arms across her chest in mock annoyance.

“Hey, how bad d’ya think I could bust John’s balls by telling him about that?” he asked her excitedly.

Her arms dropped down to her sides as she whirled around to face him, face hot with mortification.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she growled.

“Wouldn’t I?” he challenged devilishly.

She glared at him and he just smiled diabolically in return.

“‘ _Oh, John – you may be bold and brave, but my heart belongs to Charlemagne Victor Boshaw!’”_ he said in what she could only guess was an impersonation of herself, his voice now an ear-piercing falsetto. “ _‘He’s just so hunky and dreamy!’_ ”

“I don’t sound like that!” she shouted, trying not to laugh as she ran to take a playful swipe at him.

“‘ _That Sharky is ten times the man you are! You may have kissed me but I held his hand, which is like 3 rd base for me!’”_

“Shut up!” she cackled as she tackled him to the ground and started hitting him with weak-wristed smacks.

He just held his hands over his head to avoid taking an accidental wallop to the face.

“‘ _I love him so much that I just threw him on the ground and tried having my way with him right after I got off the radio with you! I’m gonna ask him to marry me someday and fight off all his other hot suitors’-_ OW! Hey, watch your knee! That’s my junk!”

* * *

 

The sky was a hazy orange by the time Boomer was leading the way up to Rye &Sons Aviation. Bishop and Sharky kept glancing over their shoulders to ensure no one was around to see their silent approach as they dashed across the street and through the main entrance. She’d had Sharky radio ahead a minute before to let them know they were inbound; it was no surprise, then, to see Nick waving at them from the front porch, rifle held idly at his side.

“’Bout time!” he greeted cheerfully before turning to call out over his shoulder, “Kim! Bishop’s here!”

Bishop was just ascending the steps as Kim Rye teetered out of the front door and straight for her, a broad smile on her face. She didn’t spare a second in wrapping her arms tightly around Bishop, who could only smile and gently return the gesture, being as careful as possible to not put any pressure or weight on the woman’s swollen belly.

“Oh, Deputy!” Kim breathed as she pulled back and looked up into her face with a warm expression. “It’s so good to see you again!”

“Likewise, Kim,” Bishop answered truthfully, her heart swelling at the sight of the woman before her.

Sharky stepped up awkwardly with a cough and Kim turned her attention to him. As she spoke to him, Nick stepped forward to place a hand on Bishop’s shoulder.

“You look good, Deputy,” he told her fondly.

She smiled as she placed her hand over top of his and swept her thumb across his skin.

“I feel better,” she told him honestly. “I’m almost 100% again.”

“Good to hear,” Nick said before taking notice of Sharky cowing before his wife. “Hey, what’re we all standing around out here for? Let’s eat!”

“Sharky, shoes!” Kim snapped as she pointed to a spot on the porch beside the door.

Bishop was sniggering to herself at Sharky’s mopey expression as he was forced to toe off his sneakers. She unlaced her boots out of respect and left them out on the porch beside Sharky’s shoes.

“How are you, Kim?” she asked as she padded into the family room.

“Still hanging in there,” Kim answered as she went and stirred the pot at the stove. “More importantly, how are you? They had you down there for so long…”

Bishop gave her a weak smile and a shrug, feeling as discomforted as she always did whenever that subject inevitably got brought back up.

“Good,” she answered. “Starting to feel like myself again.”

_Liar._

She desperately tried to ignore the traitorous voice in her head and focused on Kim as she turned back to face her.

“Do you mind if I ask…how’s…?” Kim said slowly, gesturing towards her chest.

Wordlessly, Bishop unbuttoned her shirt and exposed her tattoo. Kim’s face contorted in pain and anger as she took in the sight of it; when she looked back up into Bishop’s face, her eyes were brimming with sympathy.

“I’m so sorry,” she said earnestly. “John Seed is one sick fuck.”

Bishop sent Sharky a discreet warning glare as she re-buttoned her shirt; he made a point of looking anywhere but at her, trying to play at being innocent. She’d pulled him aside before they set off for Kim and Nick’s and had laid out in no uncertain terms that he was forbidden from even breathing John’s name in their presence. It wouldn’t take much to have him expose Bishop’s dark secret to them – intentionally or unintentionally – and she’d much rather save that conversation for a later date.

Or never - that would work just fine too.

“C’mon, let’s not ruin a perfectly good evening with talk of that jackass!” Nick cut in, leaving Bishop practically sighing in relief. “Let’s eat!”

Kim had made chicken soup that was wafting heavenly throughout the kitchen, leaving Bishop salivating as she tried to find something to help with. Both Kim and Nick shooed her away, herding her towards the table.

“You’re a guest! Just sit down and relax!” Nick insisted.

Begrudgingly, she acquiesced and sat and watched husband and wife talking quietly to one another by the stove. Nick gently hip checked Kim and she returned the gesture forcefully, sending him stumbling off balance for a moment; Bishop could only smile to herself, feeling contentment wash over her as she relaxed in the comfortable normalcy the Rye home always presented her.

They all sat down at the table together to eat and Bishop had to restrain herself from tucking into her bowl like an animal. Kim raised her glass and everyone mirrored the gesture.

“To friends and family and dinners together again!” she toasted.

Bishop could only smile and parrot the words, clinking her glass noisily with everyone else’s. The soup tasted like heaven and she said so aloud to Kim who only shrugged off the compliment; still, she sat there beaming while everyone commented on how delicious everything was. Boomer had been given some scrap chicken of his own to chow down on but that didn’t stop Bishop from slipping him some of the broth soaked pieces out of her own bowl; she noticed he disappeared under the table for brief stretches of time and saw Nick discreetly doing the same.

Afterwards, Bishop helped clear the table and wash the dishes, refusing Nick and Kim’s insistence that she relax.

“I find it funny that the nine month pregnant woman is telling _me_ to put my feet up,” Bishop noted as she scrubbed her bowl.

“Well this nine month pregnant woman wasn’t just recovered from a cult bunker, starved and dehydrated to the point of delirium,” Kim offered up in response as she took the bowl from Bishop’s hands to start drying it.

“I was delirious?” Bishop asked, looking between Nick and Sharky with wide eyes.

“You were definitely out of it,” Nick answered hesitantly. “Kinda muttering things no one could understand and talking to people that weren’t there.”

“…what was I saying?” she asked slowly, feeling a dawning sense of horror growing within.

“Nothing that really made sense,” Sharky said from his spot on the couch. “You kept bringing up John-”

He caught himself a second too late; when Bishop pinned him in a scorching glare, he at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“B-but that was to be expected! Y’know, having been at his mercy for days…him doing…well, y-y’know-”

“I thought we agreed on not talking about him,” Bishop offered up coldly, still staring dangerously at Sharky.

“Damn right – I’ve heard enough about him for a lifetime,” Nick said grumpily. “I can only imagine how you feel about him, Deputy.”

Bishop felt her face turn bright red; as Kim took the final bowl from her hands to dry, she made a quiet exit to sink down next to Sharky on the couch. Sharky was being as tactless as always, staring at her to gauge her reaction; she turned to threaten him with unspeakable acts when she found a beer dangled by its neck in front of her face. Blinking slowly, she looked up at Nick and accepted his offering with a soft thanks.

Kim settled on the opposite couch with a glass of water; Bishop startled as she cradled her stomach with a wince and made a soft sound of discomfort.

“Everything’s fine,” Kim assured her. “Baby Rye’s just being a little fussy…”

“Speaking of ‘Baby Rye’,” Bishop said conversationally, eager to turn the discussion away from herself or John. “Have you finally settled on a name yet? I saw a list a while back…just left me wondering.”

Kim gave Nick a tired look; he could only smile back sheepishly.

“What, they were good names!” he insisted.

Kim turned back to Bishop and shook her head: _see what I have to deal with?_

“No, we haven’t come up with anything we _both_ agree on yet,” she said.

“Listen…I’m just saying, if you wanted to use either of my names for Baby Rye, I wouldn’t be opposed to it!” Sharky offered up suddenly.

Bishop sent him a withering stare.

“Sharky, the baby’s a girl,” she said.

“Hey, now!” Nick spoke up suddenly. “We don’t know that for sure-“

“It’s a girl,” Kim cut in firmly, looking back over to Bishop in exasperation.

“I promise you neither ‘Charlemagne’ nor ‘Victor’ are names they want to use for her,” Bishop said to Sharky as she tried to contain her smile.

“Well, what’s your full name?” Sharky demanded suddenly.

Her cheeks flushed as all stares were suddenly directed at her. She let her gaze drop to the beer in her hand.

“Anna Louise Bishop,” she supplied with some hesitation.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Kim said dreamily; she turned back on Nick quickly. “See, our daughter should have a normal, functional name like that – not something that’s gonna get her picked on!”

As Nick struggled to come up with a coherent response in the wake of his wife’s ire, Sharky turned towards her with a curious expression.

“Hey, Dep – how come you never go by Anna?” he asked. “You always introduce yourself as Bishop.”

“Well…for the longest time, only my parents or family friends called me Anna,” she said after a thoughtful pause. “And after they were gone, I hated hearing my name on the lips of people who hurt me or treated me wrong. So I stopped going by it entirely – tried preserving the sanctity of it or something, I don’t know...”

That was a lie: she did know. She’d given him the total truth just now – she hated hearing her name being shouted or sneered at her by foster parents or adults who looked upon her condescendingly. It felt like a total insult to her given name – one of the last things she truly had left from her parents.  Her father’s badge was tangible and therefore it could be taken from her, like it had been…but her name was something no one could ever take from her.

“I just noticed,” Sharky cut in again, trying to sound casual, “that John calls you Anna…”

Bishop pinned him in an exasperated stare as he made a play at being nonchalant, taking another swig from his beer and glancing around the room. Oh, they were back to this now, were they…?

“I think he started doing it because he knew it annoyed me,” she answered quietly after a minute, looking towards Nick and Kim and making sure they were still engaged in their own conversation. “But now…I don’t know, I feel like he does it because no one else calls me that.”

“That sly dog!” Sharky whispered far too loud. “Makes it special since it’s only between you and him! Man, he’s putting such moves on you-”

“-you can call me Anna.”

That cut him off unexpectedly. Sharky blinked at her owlishly as she merely blushed and tried maintaining eye contact.

“What?” he asked stupidly after a moment.

“…you can call me Anna,” she repeatedly softly, messing with her hands distractedly. “It doesn’t have to be some special thing. We’re friends, I’ll let you call me that.”

It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, she realized, to allow people to go back to calling her that. In a sense, it’d be her way of reclaiming her name after years of it being sullied on the lips of the undeserving. Why shouldn’t she let more people call her that? What was stopping her?

She would never admit that John’s repeated use of the name had helped to cleanse it in a way…at least, not aloud she wouldn’t. _And absolutely never to Sharky._

“Anna…,”Sharky tested the name out. “I don’t know, it just seems weird calling you that after all this time…”

“I should have expected as much - you rarely call me ‘Bishop’ as it is,” she sighed. “You’re always calling me ‘Deputy’ or ‘Dep’!”

“Hey, no need to get defensive!” he said as he raised his hands in surrender.

“You were the one that brought this up with only-!!!” she insisted, only cutting herself off when she realized she was close to yelling. “Ugh, forget I offered it up!”

“Offered what up?” Nick interjected, attention switching back to their conversation by the escalation of her tone.

Embarrassed again, she could only tuck a strand of her bangs behind her ear and look at the floor.

“I was saying Sharky could call me ‘Anna’ if he wanted to,” she explained.

She looked between Nick and Kim.

“Either of you could too,” she said after a moment. “We’re all friends…you don’t have to keep calling me ‘Deputy’ or ‘Dep’. ‘Bishop’ is still fine…but I’d be okay with you calling me ‘Anna’.”

There was something that passed through Kim’s eyes that Bishop couldn’t quite place; just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished as she turned to Nick.

"Sweetheart, I'm thinking of turning in," she said softly. "It's been a busy day..."

"Do you need me to do anything?" Bishop offered instantly. "I don't mind-"

"Just relax, Deputy," Nick assured her as he placed a hand on Kim's back. "I'm gonna hit the hay too - gotta be up and out the door early."

"Guess that means we should be turning in too, Shark," Bishop said as she looked over at him, suppressing a yawn that caught her by surprise.

"Geez, it's like 9:30! What're we all old ladies now?" Sharky said grumpily. 

"There's not much to do this far from Fall's End at this time of night," Kim said dryly. "You make too much noise you risk catching the attention of whoever's holding down John's ranch..."

Bishop felt her cheeks grow hot, trying not to think about just how dangerously close they were to John's home. The last and only time she'd been that way had been when she'd first met Nick and helped him steal Carmina back; that seemed a lifetime ago now when it had only been just weeks prior...

She chanced a glance at Sharky and saw him trying to stare at her out of the corner of his eye; he blanched under the weight of her glare and thought better of whatever he was thinking of contributing to the conversation.

"Y-yeah, now that you mention it, sleep sounds good!" he said quickly. 

* * *

 

Sharky was relegated to the couch downstairs while Kim showed Bishop to the spare bedroom on the second floor. She’d lay on the comfy twin bed for a while, listening to the sounds of Nick and Kim readying themselves for bed faintly through the wall. After a long stretch of silence, she carefully made her way to the window and opened it as quietly as she could.

She slipped out onto the roof and sat herself down to stare up at the night sky. My, how she had missed the stars. Down in the bunker it was one of the pettiest agonies she felt: being denied another glimpse at the night sky. Something about the quiet twilight hours did wonders for her soul; it was just so peaceful, so pure.

She might have been asking for trouble when she reached over and turned her walkie back on, but she figured she could chance it, if only for a few minutes. The lines were mostly quiet, everyone – Peggie and Resistance alike – seeming to have settled down for the night. Bishop listened to idle chatter in Fall’s End for a minute before swapping back to the main channel.

There were only a few voices breaking through at this hour and most of them were garbled; Bishop had to assume they were operating on close but separate frequencies and she was only hearing the echo of someone else’s conversation. Only one voice came through distinctly, a man named Kyle O’Brien looking for assistance in tackling his crops in the morning. Bishop could only silently admire his resilience at trying to maintain his livelihood even in the wake of complete chaos.

“Try again in the morning, O’Brien,” she spoke into her walkie. “Someone should be able to rendezvous with you.”

He acknowledged her response and the line went silent. As she went to crank her radio off, it crackled to life once more.

“Deputy.”

Her fingers paused on the dial; she waited a few moments before raising the radio back up to her face.

“Y’know,” she finally replied, “I’d think you’d be busy with all your preparations for this so-called Collapse…and yet you always manage to pin me down on this line.”

“Oh, Anna,” he responded, “I’m never too busy for you.”

Butterflies practically exploded in her stomach as she heard the amusement in his tone; it didn’t take too much effort to picture the charming smile he had on his face. Cheeks suddenly hot, she found herself unable to come up with a witty response and opted for generic conversation instead.

“It’s a little late for one of these calls,” she said and looked out at the clear night sky above her head. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“The same could be said for you,” he replied easily.

“Who says I’m not?” she shot back quickly.

There was a long pause from the other end that made Bishop’s butterflies worse.

“Your accommodations can’t be satisfactory,” he finally said. “There’s not many beds left in the valley.”

“Yeah, I hear you’re stealing all the mattresses,” she replied.

“I can provide you with a roof over your head, food, water-”

“I’m not going back down in that fucking bunker,” she stated icily, feeling her eyes harden as she stared off into the distance.

John’s end went silent and she had to wonder if he wasn’t sighing to himself.

“Anna, I’m only trying to protect you,” he said a moment later, “I want you to understand that.”

Common sense made that hard to believe. He’d practically drowned her at the Baptism, had forcefully branded her and engaged in mild torture during her Confession…and Atonement involved having her tattoo flayed from her chest. What part of any of that was meant to be protection?!

“Your actions make it hard for me to accept that,” she settled on responding with.

He did audibly sigh then.

“Everything I do is to save the people of this valley – to help them,” he explained patiently. “You most of all.”

“Funny, you could have fooled me. I remember you waterboarding me at that Baptism and thinking you weren’t looking out for my best interests,” she stated stiffly.

“It wasn’t-”

“It was too.”

The line went silent again.

“That was before I came to know you – the real you,” he told her.

 _The girl being dunked in that river was the real me too,_ she felt like saying but held her tongue. She had a feeling she wouldn’t win that argument against him, only gain a headache. Instead she merely sighed and let it bleed through her end of the line.

“The real deal’s not that impressive compared to the version of me everyone else likes to spread,” she said sarcastically.

It was funny now in hindsight to know that it wasn’t just something Resistance fighters did to pass the time – Trish had told her the Peggies whispered about her even down in John’s bunker, enough so that she was instantly recognizable to people who had never once seen or heard her before. She didn’t like that kind of notoriety or acclaim; one of the greatest appeals of moving to Hope County had been the prospect of quiet, easy living. She could almost laugh at her foolish naivety now in the midst of everything that had happened.

“I beg to differ,” John replied, breaking through her thoughts. “It wasn’t the infamous, savage Junior Deputy I’ve come to admire – it’s Anna Bishop, flawed and brilliant.”

Leaning back against the house, Bishop let her eyes slip shut and tried not to let his words get to her head. She had a feeling he was holding back on saying a great number of other things he’d like to say about her and for that she was grateful; she wasn’t much of a conversationalist when she was tongue tied.

“That was dangerously close to praise. You must be tired, you’re starting to sound delirious,” she tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“I’ll sleep better when I have you back.”

Her cheeks flushed hot as she tried to rein in her wildly inappropriate thoughts.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t sleep that well the last time I was at your mercy,” she managed to pry from her uncooperative brain.

“Things can be different, Anna. You just have to say ‘Yes’.”

“I did say ‘Yes’,” she reminded him forcefully. “More than once.”

“ _Yes, you did_ ,” he answered gleefully. “You were on the right path, Anna – you’ve lost your way but I know you can regain your footing! Let me help you, take my hand and I’ll show you the way!”

Shutting her eyes again, she took in a deep breath and tried sorting through her chaotic thoughts. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to shut him down with a resounding “no”. She settled for the easiest and most natural form of response: sarcasm.

“Well, I was dehydrated and starving so I wouldn’t say my mind was fully aware of the terms it was agreeing to,” she said. “That would be considered a form of coercion, wouldn’t it, Mr. Lawyer?”

“You tell me, _Deputy_ ,” he snarked back quickly.

She laughed then, letting it carry over to his end of the line.

“Anna,” he tried again. “This is the will of the Father. This is the will of God.”

Bishop tried to withhold a sigh that was welling up inside, letting it exhale slowly out her nose.

“Don’t start that with me again,” she told him gently.

“There’s a connection between us,” he said, voice hush with breathless excitement.  “And I _know_ you feel it too. This is meant to be – embrace it.”

“I _don’t like_ what you make me feel,” she countered quickly.

“And what’s that?” he encouraged.

She maintained her silence, regretting having said anything in the first place. This was so clearly a trap…he already had the snare around her ankle, all he needed was for her to make one misstep and he’d knock her off her feet.

“Anna,” he said gently. “What do I make you feel?”

“Vulnerable,” she practically whispered, feeling shame welling up from deep inside. “Weak…”

“It’s not weakness,” he assured her. “You’ve exposed your soul to me and it calls to mine. You’re frightened of this, I know, but you don’t have to be. I’m right here beside you – just come back to me…”

Bishop took deep, steadying breaths as she tried to cycle through her chaotic thoughts. She didn’t like being indecisive and she didn’t like feeling torn; John managed to make her feel both. It would be a lie to say some part of her didn’t want to agree with everything he was saying, to give in and just let this be over and done with. She could never admit it aloud…but in the secrecy of her own heart, she allowed that selfish part of her to acknowledge that those feelings did indeed exist.

“Anna…”

“Good night, John” she said finally.

There was a long pause from his end that had her starting to wonder if she’d ever get a response.

“Sweet dreams, Anna.”

The tenderness in his voice didn’t help the thousands of butterflies that had formed there during the course of their conversation. She sat a while longer out on the roof, staring up at the smattering of stars spread out overhead. There were times she could stare up into the vast expanse of space and feel small and very humble in comparison; tonight was no different but she didn’t feel quite as alone as she had on previous occasions. Maybe it was knowing Nick, Kim, Sharky, and Boomer were all close by, safe and sound under a warm roof, enjoying a well-earned night’s sleep.  And maybe it was partly from not fully hostile exchange with her sort-of enemy, sort-of…whatever John was to her now.

It was hard to think of him as her nemesis when they were bidding each other pleasant parting thoughts. As she crawled back through the open window and padded over to the bed, she couldn’t rid her mind of how gently he’d said her name. Sleep came surprisingly easy, her eyes growing heavy as soon as her head touched the pillow; and blessedly, the nightmares left her be to finally enjoy a quiet full night of sleep.

* * *

 

Kim arrived downstairs to find Bishop already in the midst of making breakfast.

“Is that your tactic now?” she asked cheekily. “Wake up before Nick or I can tell you not to lift a finger?”

Bishop threw a smile over her shoulder.

“It worked didn’t it?”

Kim merely shook her head as she smiled back; she moved to sniff at the pan of eggs Bishop was scrambling.

“I hope you like ‘em scrambled,” she said sheepishly after a second, poking at the cheese and ham speckling it. “It was supposed to be an omelet…but I fucked up the flip.”

Kim laughed softly as she poured herself a cup of juice. Nick shuffled down the stairs a while later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes; Kim had already polished off her plate of eggs and was passing a fresh plate to Nick as he sat himself down at the table. Bishop went to wake the snoring Sharky as Nick started telling them about the day he had ahead of them.

“Me and ol’ Carmina will be gone for a while providing air support,” he said around a mouthful of eggs. “I hope you’ll stick around until I get back before you head out again.”

Bishop smiled as Kim chastised him for speaking with his mouth full and he bashfully finished chewing.

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” she answered honestly as she made her way back to her seat, trying not to smart too badly at being rendered useless by the giant target on her back. “Figure I won’t try and slip away until after nightfall.”

As Kim stood up to grab herself another glass of juice, Nick leaned over conspiratorially and Bishop met him halfway.

“I’d also appreciate another set of eyes on Kim,” he whispered. “There’s a band of Resistance folks coming to set up watch around noon. And Kim’s plenty tough, but…the baby’s just so close now, I can feel it. If anything happens…”

“I’ll be here,” she promised. “For all of you.”

Nick’s eyes shimmered with unspoken gratitude before sitting back upright in his chair before Kim caught sight of them whispering together secretively. Bishop mirrored the gesture just as Sharky came shuffling to the table, still half asleep and hair askew. 

“Morning, Shark,” Bishop teased.

He grunted something unintelligible as Bishop pushed the last of the eggs before him before reaching over and ruffling his hair.

“You ever think about wearing it like this?” she asked cheerfully. “Really fits the whole ‘pyromaniac’ thing you have going.”

Sharky couldn’t even bring himself to respond, shoveling eggs into his mouth and gradually losing the glazed look in his eyes.

“Hey, Sharky, try not to set anything on fire around here this time, okay?” Nick pleaded as he took his plate to the sink. “Kim’s still not pleased about losing those tomato plants in the garden.”

Kim turned to glare at Sharky, who merely blinked at her owlishly.

“What, something just so ‘happens’ to be ‘lit on fire’ and you automatically assume it’s me?” he demanded.

“Sharky, I _saw_ you throw the Molotov,” Kim stated dryly.

“Alright, so it _was_ me _that_ time,” he admitted quickly. “But in the future, maybe let’s not jump to conclusions-”

Bishop could only shake her head and look at Nick also trying to hide his amusement as Kim merely stared at Sharky in disbelief.

* * *

 

Kim had left the charred remains of her tomato crops in the ground for the next time Sharky showed up at the airstrip. He ‘agreed’ to dig up their remains and dispose of them while she and Bishop sat inside and caught up on the goings on of the last few weeks. When Sharky came in later, sweaty and grumpy, Kim was in a wonderful mood and offered him an ice cold glass of lemonade which turned his mood around just as quickly.

The afternoon was largely spent indoors, relaxing and engaging in idle chatter. Bishop was in the midst of recounting a particularly beloved family camping trip from when she was 9 years old when she heard a car engine revving up the drive. Her gun was already unholstered and she was halfway to the door before Kim caught ahold of her hand.

“Easy! Those are just the guys coming to swap shifts,” she told her as she eased the weapon in Bishop’s hand back towards her holster.

Trying to save face, Bishop merely nodded and tried calmly making her way back to the couch; Sharky hadn’t even reacted, still slumped down in the cushions as she plopped back down next to him. Kim was waving in several men through the front door and Bishop watched them trod through, observing the crates they had in their arms.

“It’s been a godsend to still be able to get fresh fruits and vegetables around here,” Kim gushed, rushing to put eggs and milk into the fridge. “Say what you want about Holland Valley, but we look out for each other here.”

Bishop could only give a weak smile in response, too preoccupied by the young man standing off to the side staring at her none too discreetly. She gave him a moment longer to look before she turned and held his stare.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she told him flatly.

She watched him flush up to the tips of his ears, averting his gaze bashfully.

“S-sorry ma’am!” he stammered awkwardly. “I-I just…you’re the Deputy everyone talks about, right?”

Bishop could only give a small nod, a half smile curling the corner of her mouth.

“Guilty,” she answered.

He rubbed the back of his head, eyes darting between her and everywhere else.

“Never thought I’d actually see you myself,” he said lamely, hands busy. “I-it’s an honor.”

Bishop blinked at his choice of words. _Honor? Woo boy…_ She hoped that wasn’t something that would be used in future conversations; that was something she could never get used to…

“Quit your gawking and get the door!” the oldest of the group snapped at the young man, who fumbled over himself to do as he was told.

He merely smiled at Bishop and gave a polite “Deputy” in greeting before turning to Kim and speaking softly with her. The young man stood out on the porch messing distractedly with his hands; as Bishop sat and watched him, she saw him discreetly take another peek at her through the window and bashfully avert his eyes when he saw he’d been caught staring again.

Finally, the stragglers filed back outside and started to disperse around the property, walking up to the other Resistance fighters stationed at their posts and relieving them of duty.

“Jesus, that one’s twitchier than a jackrabbit,” Bishop said softly as she watched the youngest fumble down the stairs and towards the trucks parked out front when one of his fellows called to him.

Kim watched them go with a curious look in her eye before turning to Bishop with a playful grin.

“Careful there, Deputy,” she cautioned. “I think you have a not-so-secret admirer.”

 _Tell him to get in line,_ she thought wryly as an image of John flashed through her mind.

Her face grew hot and Kim must have mistaken her embarrassment for the young man ogling her just moments before.

“You can’t really blame him – you’re very easy on the eyes…and about the only single female around here aside from Mary May,” she said. “And she tends to scare most of the eligible bachelors off.”

“Maybe I need to ask her to train me in her ways,” Bishop said. “I _thought_ I was doing a good job at being unapproachable…”

“Comes with the territory now,” Kim said with a grin. “You’re a celebrity. Every schmuck in this county will be lining up to get a date with you when this is all over.”

“Lucky me…”

* * *

 

Nick finally touched back down at the airstrip as the sun began setting, sky tinged orange and purple as a backdrop for Carmina to coast in against. Bishop waved at the plane as she strolled along the exterior of the house, gait leisurely as she enjoyed the cooling air. With Nick home, it was time for her, Sharky, and Boomer to hit the road; they hadn’t worn out their welcome but their departure was still long overdue. She’d taken the time to clean out all her weapons and sort her gear and was ready to head out at the first available moment; Sharky had been lounging on the couch and probably hadn’t even looked at his shotgun since putting it down beside the television the night before, but she had learned long ago that that was his definition of preparedness.

Bishop nodded to the group of Resistance fighters mingling between the airstrip and the house; it didn’t escape her notice that her “admirer” was in the shadow of the hangar and peering at her from afar. When she stopped to make eye contact with him – going so far as to give him a condescending wave – he averted his eyes and skittered out of her sight.

_Weird kid…_

Nick had a spring in his step as he headed for the house; Bishop had Fall’s End’s frequency live on her radio and was checking in on their activity when he approached.

“How’d we do today, Deputy?” he asked.

“All quiet on the western front,” she quipped back.

“That’s what I like to hear!” he said cheerfully.

Smiling at him, she watched as he jogged up the porch steps to the house before turning her attention back to her walkie. She set about clicking through channels as she found a patch of grass to sink down into, listening for any signs of distress calls through the frequencies she’d given to Fall’s End. All seemed quiet and she was thankful for another night of not having to worry about talking herself out of rushing to the aid of some poor soul under siege by the cult.

It was a surprise, then, to finally find chatter as she was nearing the main frequency.

“-uty? Deputy Bishop? Are you there, Deputy?”

She raised her eyebrows at the sound of John’s voice and wondered just how long he’d been trying to reach her; there was no hesitation in her as she pushed down on the button to talk.

“Easy there, John,” she joked. “Some might call that kind of persistence ‘desperate’.”

“Deputy!” he greeted, sounding especially jovial. “So glad to have caught you!”

She felt her mouth twitch as she tried adjusting to his bizarre mood. He’d been smug and teasing before…but this was something different. There was such apparent delight in his tone that it left her feeling a bit unnerved.

“You sound awfully cheerful,” Bishop noted. “Busy day of flaying sinners?”

“I _have_ led a number of sinners to salvation today!” he said joyfully. “But that’s not even the best news! Do you want to know what is?”

“Do I?” she asked with a sigh.

She already feared the worst: anything that brought John such a level of happiness could only spell trouble for the Resistance. If she hadn’t just been listening in to the chatter out of Fall’s End, she would have thought he’d launched another attack on them or managed to capture some of the scouting parties patrolling a tight perimeter between there and Rye & Sons.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he whispered conspiratorially. “It’s going to make me very happy.”

“Now I’m certain I don’t want to know,” she replied warily. “Hard pass.”

“You’re not even going to guess?” he persisted. “ _Deputy_...”

Her nose was scrunched in confusion at his playful chiding, absolutely bewildered by this side of John she was now hearing. What in the world had gotten into him?! Was he on drugs?!

“Sorry to disappoint…,” she answered slowly. “…Are you feeling alright?”

“I’ve never been better,” he told her and she could practically envision the Cheshire grin that had to be adorning his face. “You still haven’t even tried to guess why.”

“What is this?” she demanded, laughing a little. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked innocently.

She could only shake her head, snorting with disbelief.

“Now if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were…”

She trailed off as an icy feeling of dread settled in her stomach.

“…were what?” John’s voice reached her distantly.

_If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were just trying to keep me on the line…_

He was distracting her. Buying himself time…

“NICK!” she screamed as she scrambled to her feet. “SHARKY!”

She could hear the squeal of tires coming down the runway as she bolted up the porch steps. Gunfire pelted off the beam near her head and she dove out onto her stomach to avoid being hit. From inside the house, she could hear Boomer’s enraged barks drowning out everyone else; outside, Bishop could only lay flat on her stomach, curled up to avoid the shower of wood chips and splinters breaking off of the porch overhead.

_So glad to have caught you!_

Fuck. Now she understood...

* * *

 

 

"You've been coolin', baby, I've been droolin',

All the good times baby I've been misusin',  
Way, way down inside, I'm gonna give you my love,  
I'm gonna give you every inch of my love,  
Gonna give you my love.  
  
Wanna whole lotta love 

Wanna whole lotta love

Wanna whole lotta love

Wanna whole lotta love  
  
Yeah! All right! Let's go!  
  
Way down inside... woman... you need... love"

 

_Whole Lotta Love, Led Zeppelin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I never intended to end this chapter here - i had it laid out and drafted much differently. But then I started writing dialogue and went a little buck wild with it and I needed a new stopping point or the word count would have reached monstrous proportions, haha
> 
> Many, many thanks to all the continued support for this fic! All the comments and kudos mean so much to me <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...if you've been sticking around for any of the past chapters - or from the start - you'll notice a change in the status of this fic. Everything will be explained after the end of the chapter, all i can say is "Fear not!"

There was shouting everywhere, coming from both inside and outside of the house. For her part, Bishop could only remain curled up and out of sight as she tried to fight around the tenseness of her muscles that had her frozen in place. Questions were bouncing through her head at lightning speed, leaving her dizzy as she tried to keep up with all of them.

How was this happening?! How the fuck did John know she was here?! What possibly could have-

 _This can wait!_ Her mind supplied urgently. _FOCUS!_

Fumbling with the Beretta on her thigh, she tried crawling closer to the railing for better cover as she peeked out into the growing darkness. She could see several Peggies skulking closer from the runway, rifles drawn up and ready as they looked for targets. One of the Resistance guards was laid out on his back, twitching and trying to crawl away as the Peggies drew nearer; they ignored him totally, continuing towards the house in formation.

Bishop turned at the sound of thundering footsteps from the other end of the property; she had her gun trained on the corner of the porch and watched as the rest of the Resistance members guarding the strip raced towards the sound of the commotion. She felt some of her panic alleviate at the sight of reinforcements and took several deep breaths to rein in the overwhelming fear that had all but left her paralyzed; once she had a clear head, she finally thought to holster her pistol and reach for the sniper rifle still slung on her back.

Poking the muzzle out between two slats in the porch’s railing, she lined up her scope on the Peggies taking notice of the squad of fighters rushing to meet them. Gunfire split the night again and Bishop took a steadying breath before firing into the confusion. Her bullet went through the knee of one Peggie, sending him to the dirt below in a crumpled heap, screaming in agony.

The crack of the rifle’s shot echoed through the air for several seconds and she watched as the remaining Peggies became disoriented searching for the sniper’s position. She lined up another target and blasted him through the chest; he keeled backwards into a fellow cultist and they both hit the ground.

The front door banged open behind her, momentarily causing her to freeze up, only relaxing when she realized it was Nick joining the fray, cocking his rifle as he angrily exited the house; Boomer was right at his heels, snarling wildly.

“DEP!” he yelled before catching sight of her lying flat out on her belly. “You alright?!”

“Fine!” she managed to force out, still watching the hangar through her scope. “They’re on the runway!”

Nick sailed off the porch, landing noisily as he took aim and started firing into the Peggies inching closer to his home.

“DIRTY BASTARDS!” he snarled. “Y’ALL’VE COME TO THE WRONG HOUSE!”

The few Peggies left standing had tossed smoke grenades out into commotion, the air growing a heavy, noxious gray. Bishop could barely make out friend or foe through the haze, even through her scope; cursing to herself, she shouldered her rifle again and un-holstered her Beretta as she forced herself back up onto her feet.

As she raced to join Sharky in the thick of things, her ears picked up the sound of a distant engine roar. She couldn’t see it through the smoke, but she could place it down the far end of the runway, coming in fast.

“Here they come again!” she shouted to whoever could hear her. “Get ready!”

She raced to take cover near a stack of crates by the hangar, covering her nose with a sleeve as she tried not to cough from the acrid air still looming heavily. The engine’s roar became louder and she realized with dread that there were several vehicles coming together as a convoy. Her heart leapt wildly as she traced the sound of one coming directly at her and managed to avoid being hit by a fraction of a second as it plowed through the box she’d just been leaning against.

Flat on her back she aimed into the driver side window and fired a single shot into the head of the Peggie as he moved to open the door. His companion in the seat behind him was just as easy a target and took two shots to the throat before he could get his door open, falling forward as he pawed at his neck. Bishop rolled onto her stomach to take aim at the pairs of feet jumping out of the far side of the truck; she managed to down one, hearing his cries of pain as he buckled to his knees. The other fumbled but took off running and out of her line of sight deep into the cloud of smoke.

It was impossible to see anything where the most gunfire was being exchanged; she realized with dread that some of the shots in the haze were probably friendly fire. There was a shotgun going off repeatedly and even at a distance she could hear Sharky’s taunts rising above the din. She’d long since lost sight of Nick and felt a pang of distress deep in her gut; taking a steadying breath, she forced her panic down and made herself focus on the firefight still raging all around.

She finally thought to grab her walkie and swap frequencies.

“Fall’s End, this is Deputy Bishop! Rye & Sons is under attack! We need back up assistance immediately! Over!”

There was a few seconds of tense silence before the other end of the line crackled to life.

“Kim radioed in ahead - reinforcements are inbound!” she heard Mary May bark back. “Just hold tight, Deputy!”

Hold tight, sure…but for how long? This was only the second wave of Peggies and there was bound to be another…and another after that and however many more were needed until she was dragged back to John’s waiting arms.

Stripping off her button down, Bishop wrapped it around her neck and tied it tight, covering her mouth and nose as she set off into the cloud of smoke. Her eyes stung but it was manageable as she stayed low and crept forward with her pistol drawn.  A Peggie appeared in her vision, apparent from the scraggly hair and disheveled clothes even through the haze; she spared herself a bullet by kicking him in the back of the kneecaps and stabbing her knife into the side of his neck once he was down at her level.

She didn’t bother trying to get her weapon back, letting him fall forward with it as she moved onward. There was gunfire directly overhead that she shied away from, up until a body fell only feet away. The man she recognized as Resistance was still alive, groaning and clutching at his gut as blood seeped from his belly. She rushed towards him and grabbed him by both arms and started tugging him out of the fog, even as it slowly started dissipating around them; it was still difficult to see more than 6 feet in any direction and had her reaching for her gun the second she saw a figure coming into view.

Dropping one of the man’s arms, she raised her pistol and held, waiting for a clearer shot. The outline of a ball cap made her pause; Sharky appeared before her, his shotgun pointed in her face before he recognized her and dropped it.

“Jesus, Dep,” he breathed, “That could have been bad!”

“Help me!” she insisted, brushing aside the close call in favor of the man still moaning in her grasp.

Wordlessly, Sharky obeyed and they got him quickly out of the way. The gunfire was dying down in favor of shouts, growing more distant.

“I think they’re falling back!” Sharky observed.

“For now…,” Bishop said gravely, knowing they wouldn’t stay gone.

By then, the smoke had become largely transparent and several figures could be seen rushing through it. Two Resistance fighters were in pursuit of the retreating forms of Peggies, chasing them back out the runway as they took off on foot, abandoning their trucks in favor of expediency. Nick was barking orders by the hangar, followed closely by two other fighters rushing to do his bidding.

Bishop took several seconds to take stock of their forces. There was still someone laid out on the runway unmoving – and she could only pray he had been doused with Bliss – along with the man at her feet and two others groaning in pain nearby. Aside from the handful of dead Peggies dotting the yard, she could account for all of their forces…save for one…

That kid who had been acting funny all afternoon was nowhere to be seen. Suspicion had long since formed in her gut, but only now did she allow herself to confirm the obvious.

_Fucking prick sold us out!_

His behavior and now subsequent disappearance could only be explained by betrayal. Hot, smothering anger built up from within and threatened to overpower her as she stood and gripped her gun tighter, feeling her teeth grind together painfully. First Nancy, then Burke – twice – and now this…when would she ever learn?!

Shelving all of that for later, Bishop caught sight of Nick heading back towards the house and trotted over to him. He looked angry and frazzled but no worse for wear and she caught herself breathing out a small sigh of relief.

“There’s probably more on the way,” Bishop knew, heart starting to hammer again in her chest as she backpedaled towards the house. “We need to-“

A wail pierced through the air, freezing all of them in their tracks. It was decidedly feminine in tone…and there was only one other female on the premises besides Bishop…

She could only stand stricken to the spot while Nick immediately leapt into action.

“KIM!!!”

He was off like a shot, leaving Bishop in his dust. Dazed, she could only try and bolt after him, feeling nauseous with fear as she stumbled through the front door. Every possible horrific scenario was playing out in her head as she spun on the spot, looking for any sign of Nick and Kim. She heard commotion on the second floor and sprinted for the stairs; she hadn’t even made it up two steps before husband and wife emerged together, making a slow descent down the stairwell.

Bishop jumped back to the floor and quickly moved aside to make way, watching Kim’s face contort with agony with every step. Nick was holding her upright, face white with a combination of panic and pain from Kim’s iron grip on his hand.

“Is she hit?” Bishop demanded, wanting to approach but wary of being a hindrance. “Did-”

“No!” Kim cried out, eyes clenched shut as she descended the last step, her breathing shallow. “No, I’m not hit!”

“Kim, I don’t understand!” Nick protested, looking bewildered. “What is it?!”

“Nick, it’s time!” she groaned, clutching her belly as she finally set both feet on solid ground again.

Bishop felt her heart leap into her throat.

“W-what does that mean?!” Nick stammered, still too panicked to comprehend. “Time for what?!”

“The baby is coming!” Kim forced out, gripping his hand tightly.

“Now-oWWWW!” Nick grimaced as his fingers were crushed in her grip.

Desperately, he looked to Bishop for help.

“D-Deputy, I need you to grab the bag up in the spare room!” he managed to force out, wincing in his wife’s grip.

Bishop moved to obey but was caught by Kim’s other hand at the last second.

“No!” she insisted, panting heavily. “There’s no time! J-just get the car!”

Turning on her heel, Bishop barely caught the keys Nick threw against her chest. She staggered outside, moving as fast as she could without falling over. There was too much happening all at once - and everything was happening so fast! There was no time to think, only act; she was on autopilot as she rushed past Sharky, standing on guard at the foot of porch.

“What is it, what’s happening?!” he demanded.

“Baby…,” she heard herself say weakly as she rushed for Nick’s truck.

“What?!” Sharky’ voice echoed to her as she climbed in and started the engine.

She drove it up to the front walk just a few feet short of him. He was still looking utterly bewildered and alarmed and she let herself take a second to speak to him.

“The baby’s coming,” she said.

Instantly, his mouth formed an “o” as he took in the news.

“Shit…,” he said quietly. “What fucking timing…”

What timing indeed. Bishop’s head turned the second she heard the screen door squeak open and saw Nick helping Kim down the stairs. Bishop rushed to lend a hand but was waved off by both husband and wife.

“Deputy, we need you to drive,” Nick said as he led Kim to the backseat.

She turned quickly back to Sharky.

“Sharky, I-”

“Save it, Dep,” Sharky interrupted sternly. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

Fear clenched her heart but it couldn’t overshadow the massive wave of respect she felt for him in that moment.

“Help is coming,” she told him. “Just hold out until Fall’s End sends backup.”

“Deputy!” Nick was calling from the truck, leaning out the back window. “Hurry!”

She sprinted for the driver’s side door, heart beating wildly in her chest as Boomer sailed past her to claim the passenger seat. Before ducking in, she gave Sharky one last agonized look.

“Please, stay safe!” she begged.

He only silently saluted her and she wanted to punch and kiss him at the same time. She slammed the door shut and threw the truck in drive, feeling tenser by the moment as Kim groaned and cried from the backseat. Gravel spewed up as she hit the gas, guiding the truck out the driveway; as they flew out the front gate and onto the main road, she finally let her mind catch up and take her off autopilot.

“Where are we going?” she threw over her shoulder.

“Doctor’s place!” Nick replied, voice strangled as he coped with the pain of his hand in Kim’s grasp. “Head north and then east, up past Red’s!”

 _Red’s Farm Supply…_ Bishop worked desperately not to shudder at the thought of that place. Her gut filled with mounting panic, wondering if they weren’t in for the same shock she’d faced the last time she’d been out that way…

 _Fuck. No._ she told herself as she ground her teeth together. _Keep it together; get them to the clinic safely!_

She put her foot on the gas and urged the car faster, keeping her eyes ahead for any sign of trouble. Her eyes flickered to the CB radio on the dash and she snatched up the receiver and swapped frequencies as swiftly as she could.

“Fall’s End, this is Deputy Bishop!” she barked out. “I’ve got Nick and Kim Rye – the baby’s on its way! I need a squad sent out to the clinic to meet us – no guarantee we’re not being followed there! Over!”

She didn’t wait for a response, dropping the transmitter and letting it dangle by her knee, focus fully back on the road. Headlights appeared in her vision and she felt like time slowed; she watched as two Peggie trucks, loaded to the brim, sped down the street right towards them. Her right hand slipped from the dash to unholster her Desert Eagle, raising it to dashboard height as she waited for them to get closer.

She watched with bated breath as they revved their engines directly parallel with Nick’s truck…and continued speeding past. Releasing a shaky breath, she watched in the side view mirror as they continued hurtling past, headed straight for Rye & Sons Aviation. The Rye family might have been in the clear…but Sharky and just a handful of others were all that was left to hold the airstrip. Bishop felt her stomach drop and she silently begged for the reinforcements from Fall’s End to get there quicker than John’s forces.

Slowing only to hug the turn – figuring an old, shaky truck carrying a pregnant woman was not worth testing for drift capabilities in that moment – Bishop eased them into the straightaway towards the Clinic. They sped past Red’s, looking as deceptively calm and uninhabited as the day she had been ambushed there; forcing herself not to spare it a second glance, she kept her eyes glued to the road. Kim’s cries and screams were getting louder and Bishop found all the hair on her arms and back of her neck had stood on end as her heart threatened to pound straight out of her chest and drop at her feet.

The car hurtled past Green-Busch Fertilizer Co. and Bishop felt another spike of panic pierce her heart. She could see the Peggie forces stationed there from afar – beefed up substantially since the few nights before when she and Sharky had antagonized them. Watching as all eyes darted to her in the driver’s seat, she could only pray that they couldn’t identify her at such a distance at night; she kept a view on the front gate in the rearview mirror as they cruised past, trying to calm herself and just _breathe._

Maybe there was someone looking out for them after all – Bishop had no other explanation for how they made it to the doc’s place without a fleet of Peggies in pursuit. The truck practically flew the last few feet up the dirt driveway as she eased it to a halt at the front door.

“We’re here, K-Kim!” Nick whimpered as he strained against his wife’s grip on his pained hand. “We made it!”

 _Don’t count your blessings just yet,_ Bishop wanted to warn but wisely kept her mouth shut.

Throwing open her door, she rushed up to the clinic’s entrance and banged her fist noisily on the wood.

“IT’S THE RYES!” she screamed, hoping fervently that he believed her.

Nick was just trying to help ease Kim out the backseat when Bishop rushed back to lend a hand. Kim practically doubled over once she had feet back on solid ground, letting out a particularly pained groan. Bishop took her other hand and grit her teeth at the pressure Kim applied there; she couldn’t give Nick too hard a time later for being a baby about it, Kim had a grip!

The doc showed his face by the time they were clambering slowly up the stairs; he poked his head out the door, shotgun in hand as he surveyed his visitors and clearly relaxed when he saw they were friends.

“Oh, Kim,” he said as he quickly stowed his gun by the door. “It’s that time! Here, get her into the back room!”

Bishop stepped aside as the doctor moved to take her place; she could only watch, wringing her hands as he and Nick helped guide Kim along the hallway and towards the back of the house. Only allowing herself a moment to gather her bearings, she was soon hurtling back out the screen door and into the suspiciously silent night air.

She crouched in the front drive, unholstering her Desert Eagle and aiming it towards the road, waiting for anything to come barreling up the dirt path. Her breathing was shallow as she steadied her hands and tried keeping the pistol level. She remained that way for some time, listening to the night breeze whistling through the grass and the trees and growing tenser by the moment; beside her, Boomer growled lowly, echoing her feelings.

Kim’s loud cries could be heard coming from the house and Bishop found herself uttering a silent prayer – the first in years – for the entire Rye family.

_Please let Kim be okay. Please let the baby be okay. May this delivery be smooth and easy. Keep this family safe._

That last wish was on her as much as anyone else listening; she kept her eyes tracking every potential sign of movement and her ears open for the faintest sound of car engines or grass bending.

 _Please, John_ , she begged, _Do not know I am here. Do not send reinforcements…_

The mole – _that fucking punk ass kid_ – had presumably skedaddled before the fighting started so there was no way for him to have told the Peggies what became of her. For all they knew, she was still at Rye  & Sons trying to hold the line and were probably sending another wave to smoke her out while she sat at the clinic and listened to Kim’s cries through the walls.

She felt her heart rend in two at the thought of Sharky facing down a wave of Peggie reinforcements virtually alone; but she realized they were practically in the same boat, as she was the only one standing between the Rye family and any potential Peggie assaults. All she could do was hope that Fall’s End had made it in time to help, that Sharky was safe and unharmed, that everything would turn out alright…

The squeal of tires from the main road had her snapping to attention instantly, her gun raised and pointed as her breathing hitched. Her thumb was on the safety, sliding it off as she readied herself for the headlights shining up the drive at her. She was fully prepared to fire until a familiar face poked out of the back window and looked out at her.

“Deputy!” Jerome called.

Feeling a wave of relief wash over her, she slid the safety back on and lowered her weapon as she raced up to meet the SUV pulling up to park next to Nick’s truck.

“I cannot tell you just how glad I am to see you,” she sighed as she hugged Jerome quickly.

He gave her a reassuring squeeze back and she took strength from the contact; as she pulled away, however, her mind rapidly caught up with the situation.

“What about Rye & Sons?” she demanded. “Did anyone make it out there? What’s-”

“Easy!” Jerome said, raising his hands to placate her. “Reinforcements made it out there just before another wave of Peggies came through. They’re still hashing it out – we have to keep an ear on the radio to find out more.”

It didn’t console her…but knowing that Sharky wasn’t alone in the fight made her feel he stood a fighting chance. Still, she meandered over to the doc’s porch and plopped down unceremoniously, placing her head in her hands and letting her eyes slip shut as she soaked everything in. She knew she should be helping form a perimeter with the newly arrived squad staking out positions around the clinic…but she wanted at least a few selfish moments to herself to process all the emotions she had been shelving since that radio call with John had ended so abruptly and kickstarted this whole mess.

Jerome watched her quietly for a few seconds before walking over and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. There were no words of thanks she could summon up to offer him; instead, she merely raised her hand to place over his and let the press of her fingers against his convey what she couldn’t.

“The Ryes got here safely because of you,” Jerome told her softly. “The night’s not over, but things could have ended there at the airstrip. They’re in your debt, Deputy.”

Bishop squeezed her eyes shut tighter, guilt eating away at her insides. Boomer had since trotted up and laid down beside her, placing his head in her lap and whining in concern; she let a hand drop to press consolingly into the fur at his neck, trying to take comfort from him in return.

“The only reason John attacked was because he knew _I_ was there,” she said woefully.

“If you keep blaming yourself for every one of John’s actions, you’ll break sooner rather than later,” Jerome counseled. “Don’t do that to yourself. Otherwise John will have you exactly how he wants you: weak…and susceptible to exploitation.”

She knew he was speaking wisdom…but it was so hard to let go of her guilt. It was her fault for being there in the first place, it was that _fucking kid’s_ fault for betraying them all, it was-

Taking a deep steadying breath, she tried taking all her whirlwind emotions and forcing them into the empty space in her chest. She found that harder and harder to do these days – what once had been second nature to her had become nearly impossible. That emptiness had shrunk to a manageable size and forcing anything in there had become exceptionally difficult. It didn’t do anyone any good to dwell on such a development now in the thick of things.

Kim’s screams echoed back through the screen door and out into the night air. Bishop forced her eyes open to look up at Jerome with desperate eyes.

“What do we do?” she asked weakly.

Jerome merely grimaced, adjusting his grip on his rifle.

“We hold position,” he said simply. “And pray…”

* * *

 

The hours dragged by slowly. Or presumably they did – Bishop couldn’t even begin to guess just how much time had passed since she’d arrived at the clinic. Everyone prowling the perimeter was tense with worry, all heightened to the sounds of Kim’s labor and preparing for an oncoming Peggie assault at a moment’s notice.

Aside from the commotion in the delivery room, things had been awful quiet, leaving Bishop more on edge than she thought possible. Jerome had his radio on and dangling from his hip, keeping an ear on the reports coming in from Fall’s End. Bishop strained to listen from everywhere she patrolled, her heart torn between worry for Sharky and for Kim and the baby inside; behind her, Boomer trailed restlessly, picking up on her distress and whining softly.

Just as she was beginning to feel violently ill from the stress still building up inside, Jerome’s radio crackled to life; Bishop jolted to attention as he brought it up to his ear.

“-fell back when it became obvious they were fighting over nothing,” she could hear Mary May’s voice as she drew closer. “We beat ‘em back and let them retreat once they cleared the runway. Got a handful of injured headed back to town – 3 dead, don’t know names yet…”

Bishop felt her stomach drop and tried reassuring herself that Sharky couldn’t possibly be one of the three – _he just couldn’t._ Jerome caught sight of her pained expression and looped his radio back through his belt.

“Rye & Sons is still under our control,” he told her. “We lost a few men but it could have been much, much worse. Take a deep breath – we’re okay.”

 _You don’t know that_ , she wanted to say. _You don’t know that Sharky is okay and until I do I_ won’t _be_.

Instead, she merely took in a shaky breath, trying to steady her racing thoughts.

A loud, high pitched cry broke through the screen door behind her. The words died on her lips as she turned and stared into the dimly lit front hall and listened to the sound of a baby’s screams. Turning quickly back to Jerome, she could only stare wide-eyed.

“That’s…that’s good, isn’t it?” she asked cautiously, motioning towards the house.

Jerome’s easy smile helped melt away some of her dread.

“Yes, Deputy,” he acknowledged, “That’s a good sign.”

A sigh ripped from her throat before she even knew it had built up inside her. A great weight lifted from her chest, nearly causing her to sink down to her knees into the dirt below. She staggered to the front porch and lowered herself to it without flair; leaning against one of the beams, she shut her eyes and just let herself breathe in and out, focusing on the steady rise and fall of her chest.

It helped marginally, bringing some semblance of balance back to her mind. When she forced her eyes back open, it was to the sight of Jerome poking his head into the house, speaking in hushed tones to who she could only presume was the doctor. She waited as patiently as she could for him to finish and step back aside, staring at him expectantly.

“Kim is doing just fine,” Jerome told her with another smile. “Baby’s doing great –a healthy, perfect little girl.”

Bishop couldn’t begin to say where the laughter that bubbled out of her throat even came from; all she knew was once it started, she couldn’t control it and just let it pour forth. Dropping flush against the porch, she brought her hands up to her face and covered her eyes, feeling such overwhelming relief wash over her it left her dizzy.

All that was left was to know Sharky was safe and sound and she found herself praying silently again for it to be so.

* * *

 

Bishop and Jerome continued patrolling the perimeter of the clinic after the doctor had returned to Kim’s bedside. The energy amongst all the Resistance members had changed with the safe delivery of Baby Rye – everyone held themselves higher and walked with more purpose in their step. She was conversing in idle chatter with a man who’d just introduced himself as Greg when the screen door pushed open and Nick emerged outside.

He turned and caught sight of Bishop and waved her over excitedly; it was all she could do to excuse herself and not sprint the distance to him, still unable to stop herself from leaping up onto the porch when she approached.

“C’mon,” Nick said as he ushered her inside. “Kim’s waiting!”

Nick led the way into the back of the clinic, towards the room housing Kim and the baby. Bishop tried not to tread on his feet, realizing she was practically pressed up against his back in her haste to follow closely. They arrived at a closed door and she realized her heart had begun beating rapidly again as Nick slowly eased it open and motioned for her to follow; commanding Boomer to wait outside, she slipped in behind Nick and pressed the door shut silently.

“Hey!” Kim’s voice reached her ears from inside the darkened room.

Bishop blinked to adjust to the low lighting and caught side of Kim gazing at her in adoration. She looked exhausted – rightfully so – but good…glowing with pride and happiness that seemed infectious. Bishop came closer and reached for the hand extended out to her, smiling back with all the relief and joy she felt for her safe and uneventful delivery.

“Come see her,” Kim encouraged, cradling the bundle in her other arm close to her chest.

Looking down at the sleeping face nestled in pink blankets, Bishop felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Ain’t she a sight?” Nick beamed as he moved to stand behind Kim.

“…she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Bishop answered honestly, voice barely above a whisper.

Little Baby Rye had the most angelic face she had ever laid eyes on, a sweet little cherub swaddled in rose hued linens. A tuft of downy raven colored hair was poking up from just underneath her cap, a tiny fist clenched tightly near her soft, chubby cheek.

“Would you like to hold her?” Kim asked her gently, breaking Bishop from her reverie.

Blinking in shock, she couldn’t even think to protest before the small bundle was being placed in her arms. Initially stiff, she quickly tried to accommodate the precious cargo in her arms and cradled her to her chest. Something akin to maternal instinct must have finally kicked in; suddenly, she found she knew just how to hold her and felt herself relax as she rocked her gently in her arms.  

“This wouldn’t have been possible without you, Deputy,” Nick said softly as he looked proudly upon his daughter in her arms. “My baby girl…she would have been born in that hellish bunker if you weren’t around to help.”

Bishop knew better than to bring up her guilt in the hand she’d played in the ambush. She merely looked down at the sleeping angel in her grasp and felt a wave of warmth and affection sweep over her; it helped assuage her of some of her guilt when there was such a tangible, adorable reward for all the pain and effort they’d endured the last few hours.

“So am I looking at a Nikita or a Nicole or…?” she asked playfully as she looked up.

Nick and Kim exchanged a look that didn’t escape her notice; Kim smiled fondly at her before answering.

“Anna Etsuko Rye.”

Bishop could only blink, sure she heard them wrong. Only when she swapped her gaze between their faces and saw the warmth and joy there did she finally understand. Her heart felt far too large for her chest to contain; she struggled to come up with anything to say in response but found she couldn’t speak around the lump that had formed in the back of her throat.

“After everything you’ve done for us, Deputy,” she could hear Kim telling her distantly, “After all you’ve done for the valley…”

“It fits her,” Nick said softly in agreement. “She’s gonna be tough as nails, just like her namesake.”

Bishop remained silent, eyes falling back down to the baby in her arms. Anna Bishop looked upon Anna Rye and felt her eyes prickling with moisture. Nick’s hand was placed gently on her back as she stood trying not to tremble with the baby in her grasp.

“Hope you don’t mind if we stick to calling you ‘Deputy’,” he said softly. “Just’ll make things easier without calling you both Anna…”

She could only nod, feeling her lips working furiously over her teeth as she held in any sounds she might be tempted to make. Kim reached for her elbow and rubbed her reassuringly; Bishop couldn’t spare her a glance, still looking down at little Anna Rye and thinking she was the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes upon.

“If it’s not too much to ask, we’d also like you to be godmother,” Nick added after a moment’s hesitation, seeming to realize she was already overwhelmed.

He was right to worry; she could feel her gaze blurring with tears to the point of blindness. She couldn’t force them back or hide them, try as she might as she turned her face away from Nick and Kim.

“It would be an honor,” she practically choked out, feeling the tears starting to burn hot trails down her cheeks.

Nick stepped closer to pull her into a side-hug, mindful of his daughter cradled protectively in her arms. Kim kept her grasp on Bishop’s elbow and rubbed her fervently, fighting back tears of her own.  Bishop could only stand between them, feeling the warmth of the baby in her arms and realizing there was nowhere on earth she’d rather be than with the tiny family she’d unintentionally claimed as her own.

* * *

 

“How are things?”

“All’s quiet back here in Fall’s End but we’re ready for anything. The folks up at Rye & Sons felt only a little bit of pushback and have managed to hold the fort while Nick and Kim are away,” Mary May told her over their radio.

Bishop felt herself able to breathe normally for the first time in hours, inhaling and exhaling deeply as her eyes slipped shut. She sat outside the doctor’s home, along with a handful of other Resistance members all on watch for any sign of Peggies. She’d had the sense to move far enough away to not disturb the sleeping Kim and baby Anna while she made the call into town to get updates on the failed ambush’s fallout.

 _Baby Anna_ …god, that would take some getting used to. The first thing out of Mary May’s mouth had been questions regarding the Ryes and congratulating her on the honors they’d bestowed on her, having heard from Jerome upon his return to town. Bishop had been left blushing even after Mary May had stopped her teasing and told her of preparations to accommodate Kim and baby Anna on their return.

“I don’t think Rye & Sons is a target anymore, frankly,” Mary May said after a pause. “The minute it became apparent you weren’t there…they seemed to pack up and leave.”

Bishop swallowed thickly, trying not to let her mind go back down that path again. She expected as much…but who really knew how John’s mind worked? It wouldn’t seem unlikely that he’d steamroll the meager forces attempting to hold down Rye & Sons simply to punish the Resistance for denying him his prize.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” was all she chose to say. “Still, I’ll feel better if-”

“Don’t worry, Deputy,” Mary May assured her and Bishop could feel her smile through her tone. “They’re not going back there anytime soon.”

“Thanks,” Bishop replied earnestly, feeling some of her dread alleviate. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

She reached to swap channels just as another voice came crackling through the line.

“D-deputy.”

Bishop’s hand clenched around the walkie out of reflex. It wasn’t John, but the voice was still familiar…even if she’d only heard it once just the day before.

“You got some balls trying to speak to me,” she said coldly.

“I-I know I got no right,” the boy stammered, sounding pained. “And I don’t expect forgiveness! But I-I just want you to know how sorry I am!”

“Sorry?” she echoed, biting back a harsh laugh.

“Th-the cult…they got my family,” he explained, sounding choked. “My ma and my pa…and my little sister…”

Nothing could assuage her anger towards him and his betrayal – the flames of her wrath burned so brightly in her chest it made breathing painful. But some of the hate began to slowly bleed away…he’d been forced into a corner by John and the Peggies and what else could he do? She had killed for the sake of her family by the time she was his age – what kind of hypocrite would it make her to judge him and the lengths he would go to for his own?

“They promised to let them go…b-but they didn’t,” he said, voice choking up. “They still have them…and I know I made a huge mistake, all for nothing…”

“…it’s not me you should be apologizing to,” she finally said after a lengthy pause. “Nick and Kim Rye expected you to protect them and their baby and you betrayed their trust – almost got _their_ whole family taken.”

“I-…you’re right,” he admitted quietly.

Bishop inhaled deeply as she thought over her next words carefully.

“How did you get in contact with them from Rye & Sons?” she asked.

“B-by radio,” he said, sounding upset again. “I didn-”

“Who did you speak to?” she demanded, cutting him off.

“…John Seed,” he admitted with shame.

Heart hammering wildly, Bishop swallowed around a suddenly thick tongue.

“Did they give you a specific frequency?”

“….yeah.”

“What was it?”

* * *

 

Bishop had directed her Judas to contact Fall’s End and explain the situation; whether or not he was granted clemency was up to Jerome and Mary May to decide. She’d done her part in forgiving his actions – _opening her heart to him…_

She’d sat for a while afterwards, radio in hand, just glaring off into nothingness. After she felt she’d let herself stew long enough, she’d leapt to her feet and stormed off, putting significant distance between herself and the other Resistance fighters still milling about. Wrenching the walkie up to her face, she cranked it to the frequency the young man had given her and listened in. There was immediate chatter, all regarding the coming Collapse and preparations for it; no one made mention of the recent failed ambush at Rye & Sons - whether out of shame or fear she couldn’t begin to say.

“John,” she snapped, breaking up the ongoing Peggie conversation as soon as there was a window. “John Seed!”

There was dead silence on the line after she took her thumb off the transmitter; it only infuriated her further.

“John, pick up your fucking radio! I know you can hear me!”

“…Deputy,” his voice greeted her after a moment.

Her teeth snapped shut as her mind suddenly blanked; all of the things she wanted to say to him - all the things she’d been rehearsing in her head - were wiped clean upon finally hearing him again.

“I must say,” he continued after she remained silent, “I didn’t expect to have you calling on me. I feel honored.”

“Well, we got cut off rather abruptly earlier,” she managed to throw back at him. “I wouldn’t want you to think I was being rude and avoiding you...”

“…How thoughtful.”

His tone had shifted and she could suddenly feel his anger and annoyance; he was smarting over her outfoxing him again. Invigorated, she couldn’t keep the cruel smile off her face as she responded.

“Had a bit of a minor annoyance there, but it got cleaned up fairly quickly. Hope I didn’t have you worried.”

The silence from his end was telling and she couldn’t help but feel smug satisfaction at his expense.

“I wonder how Nick and Kim are doing?” he asked after a minute. “Did they like your surprise too? It wasn’t meant to be a group present…but we’re all _friends_. It wouldn’t be very neighborly of me to exclude them.”

Instantly, her gratification melted away, replaced by white hot rage.

“You could come back to me right now, Anna, and end all this…or I can send a few more men knocking on the Ryes’ door in a little while. Even if you’re not there, the Rye family and I are all overdue for a good, long sit down…”

“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” she seethed, practically crushing the radio in her hand.

“All’s fair in love in war,” he responded easily, not affected in the slightest by her hostility. “And this just so happens to be a bit of both…”

Despite her anger, she still felt herself blushing in response.

“Well then, I’ll let it be known I don’t find it real romantic that you keep sending others out to fetch me for you,” she said hotly. “If you really wanted to make an impression, you’d come and get me yourself.”

There was a short pause; Bishop felt herself breathing heavily as she waited for a response.

“Is that what it would take?” he asked dangerously.

“Yeah,” she answered heatedly. “Put yourself on the front lines like the rest of us. Stop threatening my friends and come face me one on one. Live a little.”

He hummed over the line, sounding both thoughtful and irked; then suddenly, he transitioned to laughter.

“Oh, Anna,” he chided. “You demand so much and give back so little in return.”

“Give back?” she asked, brow furrowing. “What do you expect from me?”

“I _expect_ you to remain defiant,” he answered. “To keep prolonging this ridiculous chase when it only will only end one way…but what I _want_ is for you to stop pretending that you don’t enjoy all this.”

“I _enjoy_ all this?!” she parroted back in disbelief.

“You string me along and stay just out of arm’s reach to see what lengths I’ll go to,” he told her smugly. “You try and claim you feel nothing…and yet you sing an entirely different tune when it’s just you and I alone together…on the radio, in the chair, it makes no difference where it takes place.”

For a moment, she was too stunned to speak.

It would be _so easy_ to escalate the situation – she excelled at making things worse than they already were. She didn’t want to feed his wounded ego, as she suspected the source of such a ridiculous demand to be; there were easily a half dozen things she could think to say that would absolutely infuriate him instead.

But she was beginning to see that taking a tactful approach was probably the best course of action; if she made him mad enough, he could very well take that as excuse to retaliate even more ruthlessly than he had before. She knew he was capable of much worse than he had shown the people of the valley and she shuddered to think of how far he would take his conquest in an attempt to finally break her and make her submit.

Diplomacy wasn’t an option – she’d told him not long before there was no middle ground to be reached and that fact remained unchanged. But if she could just get him to see reason…

“What do you want me to say?” she demanded finally. “That I feel something for you? Because yes, I do – feelings I can’t quite explain or justify! But you are the _enemy_ , John!  You try and harm innocent civilians that I took oaths to serve and protect! Nothing will make me run into your waiting arms because I can’t allow myself to be that selfish! The people of this county are depending on me and I will not let them down,” she assured him heatedly.

The pause that followed was long and tense and Bishop felt her heart doing somersaults in her chest. Perhaps she had gotten through to him – that was the best case scenario, after all; and yet, it didn’t stop part of her soul from aching at the prospect of starting back at square one, enemies once more at each other’s throats.

“I knew you felt it too,” he finally broke the tense silence, satisfaction bleeding though his tone. “We’re meant to be, you and I.”

“That’s-!” she started quickly before incredulity cut her off, a harsh exhale all she could contribute. “…that’s not what you were meant to take away from all of that.”

“It changes nothing,” he said simply; she could practically feel him shrugging his shoulders. “I am going to get you back, one way or another. If you won’t come willingly, then we just continue the same song and dance we’ve been performing.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Prepare for continued disappointment.”

Her heart was hammering as she switched channels, trying to fight between emotion and reason. Screw him – screw him and his obsession with her! She hated how her stomach still filled with butterflies at all his proclamations of affection and intent – paired with the heaviness of dread for all his plans, it left her feeling too dizzy and ill for much of anything.

The sound of an engine was all it took to wrench her thoughts away from John and she felt guilty for feeling grateful for the distraction; there was no telling if the vehicle approaching belonged to friend or foe and it could very likely mean trouble. She launched back towards the doc’s place, Beretta drawn and ready at her side as she joined the others staring down the end of the drive. They waited in tense silence until headlights shone upon from afar. Bishop aimed her pistol, ready to take out the driver at a second’s notice and held, even as they drew nearer.

The red truck grinded to a halt a respectable distance away; all four doors opened and people slowly began to unload, taking time to show their hands and faces and make it clear they were with the Resistance.

All but one. A figure jumped out of the backseat with a shotgun clutched tightly in their hands, strolling out without a single thought for their own safety in the face of a heavily armed Resistance squad. Bishop didn’t even have to see their face before she was sprinting to throw her arms around them, leaping off the ground to reach.

“Easy, Dep!” Sharky joked as he caught her mid-leap and squeezed back tightly.

She had never been so glad to see him before, feeling her heart hum with joy at the knowledge that he was safe and sound. Things that night could have turned out so horrifically…and yet, they were all here together, no worse for wear. She should save her relief for when the injured had all been accounted for and were in the clear - but being reunited with Sharky and the Ryes again left her feeling momentarily content.

“No sign of your boyfriend back at the airstrip,” Sharky joked in her ear, effectively ruining the moment.

“I just got off the radio with him,” she whispered, shutting him up.

At her insistence, he placed her back down on her feet. She took a quick glance at the other Resistance fighters walking up the drive towards the house before making a quick motion with her head at Sharky. He got the message and silently followed her away from the quiet chatter of the others and towards the quiet, emptiness of the nearby field.

“It’s bad, Sharky,” she told him once they were out of earshot. “Real bad…and I think I just managed to make things worse.”

“I think it’s pretty bad right now, Dep,” Sharky said after a moment. “I think you’re stressing out over nothing.”

“You didn’t hear him just now!” she insisted. “He thinks I’m just being coy with all this!”

She fisted her hands in her hair and turned in a tight circle, willing the stress gnawing at her gut away. Sharky just stood and watched, unsure of how to respond; she was grateful for his silence…and how for once he seemed to be taking John’s obsession with her seriously. Taking a steadying breath, she turned back to Sharky with her hands on her hips, mind already cycling through strategies.

“I gotta get out of here, Shark,” she told him flatly. “The next time he comes for me will probably be successful – we can only get lucky so many times.”

“What’s the plan, then?” he asked.

She stared at him for a long, painful moment.

“I think it’s best for everyone if we part ways for a while,” she told him.

His eyes widened in surprise.

“What?!” he demanded.

“Sharky, if I get run down again, I can’t guarantee your safety,” she said, begging for him to understand. “John’s already made his dislike for you known – I can’t bear to have something happen to you just because you’re traveling with me.”

“Fuck that noise!” Sharky insisted angrily. “You got taken the last time because I wasn’t there watching your back! He’ll nab you again over my dead body!”

“Sharky,” she said seriously, stepping up to grab him by his sweatshirt. “That is _exactly_ what I’m afraid of! I can’t lose you!”

She felt her eyes start to burn and struggled not to have her hands shake while they were still fisted in his hoodie.

“I can’t lose you,” she repeated weakly. “You’re my best friend – you know that right? If anything happens to you because of me…”

She watched as his eyes softened and abruptly forced her gaze away, feeling embarrassed with herself for being so forthcoming.

“Dep, no offense, but I’m about the only cockblock left between you and John,” he said quietly. “You better not be trying to get rid of me just to let him jump you – ‘cause all you’d have to do is tell me and I’d look the other way while you two did it…”

A snort ripped from her nose before she could stop it, laughing as she shook her head in disbelief.

“You’re horrible,” she said as she shoved him playfully. “Absolutely terrible...”

“And sticking to you like glue,” he said as she shoved her back. “What are best friends for? Johnny Appleseed can go jerk off in his sock ‘cause we’re rolling on out of here and back to party central! You, me, my trailer – a cold six pack and a half dozen of the greatest action films ever to grace the silver screen.”

She could only smile and think to herself how much she’d love to indulge in such slothful glee; the appearance of Nick in her periphery spared her from trying to respond to such a proclamation.

“Glad to see you still in one piece, Shark!” Nick greeted as he pulled him into a one armed embrace.

“Always glad to fry some Peggie ass in the name of friends and family,” Sharky boasted proudly, striking a pose for good measure.

“Whatcha two whispering about over here?” Nick asked Bishop after they’d stepped apart.

She didn’t even have to glare at Sharky to get him to seal his mouth; one glance was enough to have him avoiding her gaze entirely. Cycling back through the previous discussion, she landed on something she’d actually be able to safely share.

“It’s time to leave this place,” she told him gravely. “Enough fucking around – we’re crossing the Henbane and regrouping with the Cougars.”

“Not a bad idea, Dep,” Nick conceded finally. “John Seed is out to get you and there’s few safe places left in the valley.”

Bishop nodded at him before turning to Sharky; whatever she was going to say to him died on her lips as something was placed on her head and tipped over her eyes, temporarily blinding her. She froze for a moment before pushing back the brim of the hat now encasing her messy hair and looked at Nick in confusion.

“Might help keep you incognito while you’re traveling,” he explained, fluffing his own helmet hair as best he could.

“Nick, I can’t-”

“Aw, keep it!” he insisted. “I got plenty of others back at the house! ‘Sides, Kim wanted me to replace this one anyway – said it was looking dingy.”

Bishop felt her lips twinge in the makings of a smile.

“Well, when you put it so enticingly…”

“And what better way to promote my business ‘cross the river,” he said cheekily as he knocked the brim of the hat lightly. “Losing money here in the valley! If I got you repping Rye & Sons…er, _Rye & Daughter_ …people will be calling asking for services, I just know it.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that, feeling a burst of warmth in her chest.

“Well then…I agree to be your sponsor,” she said as she adjusted the cap on her head.

Movement from Sharky drew her gaze back to him; she was startled to see him pulling his hoodie up over his head and brandishing it at her.

“Here!” he said and shook it when she made no move to take it. “Put this on too!”

“Sharky, I think I’ll be-,” she started to say before he shoved it over her head and encased her in darkness.

The smell was overpowering; by the time he forced her head through the opening, she felt dazed.

“Good god,” she coughed, wrinkling her nose as he shoved her arms into the sleeves.

“It suits you!” Sharky beamed as Nick struggled to contain his laughter next to him.

Bishop could only glance down at “What Are You Smiling At?” embossed across her stomach before slowly leveling Sharky in a withering stare.

“So it would seem…”

* * *

 

Bringing herself to part from the Ryes one last time proved to be one of the hardest things Bishop had ever forced herself to do. Baby Anna was swaddled in a nest of blankets as she and Kim were loaded into Nick’s truck and Bishop knew she was probably being a hindrance in order to accommodate them both in any way she could. She let herself fawn over the baby as much as she could, knowing it might be a long time until she got another chance. Her goddaughter - _goddaughter, wow,_ _that was still hard to believe_  – was sleeping once more, the picture of angelic perfection and she gazed down adoringly at her with Kim.

“They’re all set up for you in Fall’s End,” Bishop heard herself saying.

“I have a feeling they’re going to try and spoil us rotten,” Kim said with a smile.

“Hey, no one’s allowed to spoil _my_ goddaughter rotten except me,” Bishop joked, earning a soft chuckle from Kim.

The warmth in Kim’s face quickly morphed to sadness as she reached for Bishop’s hands and held tight.

“Please be safe,” she begged. “We want you to be here again soon to spend time with Anna…”

Feeling her mouth quiver, Bishop tried reining in her own grief at such a parting.

“I’ll do my best,” she promised quietly.

Saying goodbye to Nick had been a quiet affair; he’d merely pulled her into a crushing embrace as she drew near and she closed her eyes and basked in the feeling. When they finally pulled apart, he held her by the shoulders and stared at her seriously.

“Kick some Peggie ass, ya hear?” he said sternly before reaching to knock the brim of his hat affectionately. “And hold on tight to this.”

She merely smiled and nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Nick had loaded into his truck not long after, along with two other Resistance members, both armed and hanging out the windows. Sharky, Boomer, and Bishop had jumped into the bed of the pickup at the back of the convoy and rode with them back out onto the main road; as they turned out by the Grain Elevator, they waited for the truck to slow before leaping out into the street. Bishop had waved longingly as they watched the small fleet of vehicles headed towards Fall’s End grow steadily smaller in the distance; only once they had vanished from view did she turn and put her focus on the long road ahead of her.

The fastest route would have been to travel straight down the road from the doc’s place over the bridge to Lorna’s Truck Stop…but Bishop couldn’t help but feel mistrustful of that area. It had been the exact route she and Sharky had tried to take the night they harassed the Peggies at Green-Busch and she had a sinking feeling that it would be unwise to try and venture that way again just yet. They’d head south, past Flatiron Stockyards to the bridge there that would take them across the Henbane and out of John’s territory.

The journey was already off to a miserable start, the air thick with Bishop’s misery and anxiety. It only seemed to get worse as Sharky ignored the warning her sullen silence gave and began messing with her clothing.

“Stop it!” she fussed for the umpteenth time, swatting at Sharky’s hand.

He took it in stride, avoiding her smack and reaching back to adjust his sweatshirt again when he thought she was complacent. She sighed irritably but let him do as he pleased, too tired of fighting him on it.

 _When I die of heatstroke, I hope you remember this moment…_ , she thought crossly.

She tried her best to ignore him picking at her and focused back on the road ahead. Sharky seemed to be enjoying the sight of her in his sweatshirt far too much, unable to stop himself from continually adjusting it despite her protests. As he tried throwing the hoodie on over her cap, she was back to snarling at him.

“We’re trying to be discreet, not suspicious!” she hissed as she whipped the hood off her head and straightened her hat again.

Sharky didn’t seem the least bit put off by her attitude, all smiles as he strolled along beside her, shotgun slung carelessly over his shoulders. It was weird seeing him out of his sweatshirt; Bishop couldn’t help but sneak glances at him, walking around in just a dirty gray t-shirt. He seemed almost naked without it, a thought that left her flushing unexpectedly.

“Admiring the view, Dep?” he asked as he caught sight of her staring, forcefully flexing his biceps for her benefit.

“Just thinking about when I can finally force this sweatshirt back on you,” she said with a smile, shaking her head at his actions.

Discreetly, she lifted a sleeve and sniffed; she immediately regretted such a decision.

“God, Sharky…I feel like I can get high off this thing,” she complained.

Her nose was full of the smell of weed and stale beer; wryly, she wondered if Sharky even noticed the aroma he put off or if he was just so used to the smell he didn’t even have a clue. Boomer seemed to have taken to keeping his distance from her since setting out and she had the distinct feeling it was because of her new aroma…

“No need! I got plenty of…,” Sharky trailed off, clamping his teeth shut as she stared at him pointedly. “Well, I, uh, I mean-”

“Sharky, for as long as we’ve been running around together – of all the other crimes we’ve committed in the name of the Resistance – do you really think I’m gonna bust you for weed?” she demanded semi-seriously, grinning at him.

“I-I didn’t think about it like that,” he said after a moment before smiling back. “I should have known , you’re like the coolest cop alive – you’re fucking Robocop, man! Man, when we get back to my place, I’m rolling you a joint!”

“Now hold up!” she said as she watched him already getting himself excited. “Just cause I’m not busting you for it doesn’t mean I’ll be rolling doobies with you either!”

“Aw, c’mon, Dep!” he insisted. “Live a little! You said it yourself – you’ve broken rules out here already! One joint’s not gonna hurt anybody!”

Snorting audibly, she could only shake her head as she turned to chastise him. The words died on her lips as an engine roared loudly from behind. She and Sharky turned together to stare at the convoy flying over the hill towards them. The driver in the lead slammed on the brakes, grinding to a halt 20 feet back, the other three vehicles rushing to do the same. Bishop stared at the Peggie looking right back at her and took in the surprise on his face; she quickly realized that this was all a matter of circumstance. They hadn’t been tracking them - the convoy had just happened to be cruising by at the exact same moment that she, Sharky, and Boomer had been strolling along out in the open.

_What luck…_

Movement from one of the trucks further back finally drew her stupefied gaze away from the lead driver. She turned her gaze on the handsome face leaning out the window to stare at her and she felt herself freeze in place.

“Deputy!” John grinned at her, eyes crinkling in delight.

Bishop couldn’t breathe. There was no way – no fucking way!

For once, Sharky was the one to leap into action while she remained stricken in place; grabbing her hand, he wrenched her after him as he wielded his shotgun single-handedly and fired into the cab of the first truck.

Her legs didn’t seem to work as Sharky first pulled her along behind him – at least not until the exchange of fire started and the adrenaline started taking over. She found herself racing along with him before finally overtaking him, pulling him urgently by their linked hands as she followed Boomer barking angrily in front of them.

The tree line in front of them was their only option; beyond that lay the river and Henbane territory. Trying to ignore the jackhammering of her heart and the sound of the trucks squealing through the dirt and grass behind them, Bishop cycled through information rapidly in her head.

_John, here – not good. One shot: the river. Make it to Faith’s region…might get away!_

Breaking through the tree line, they barely had a moment’s rest before a truck smashed into a trunk behind them, snapping it like a toothpick and sending it plummeting down at them. Bishop just barely dragged Sharky out of the way in time, the ground shaking beneath their feet with its impact. Boomer yelped as the sound reverberated in his ears and Bishop wished she could take the time to soothe him; she concentrated on the sight of him weaving through the trees and bushes and did her best to follow in his tracks, knowing he’d pick the surest route.

Minus John and Sharky, she was getting the sickest sense of déjà vu back to the day right before she’d been taken down to the bunker. Funny how the world worked…

She hadn’t realized she was still holding Sharky’s hand until he began to grow winded, becoming a weight she was dragging along. Insistently, she tugged him as far as she could through the trees and out towards the cliff overlooking the Henbane River. They both skidded to a halt mere feet from the edge, gasping for breath together. Bishop grabbed Sharky by the arm and started pulling him northwards, already trying to formulate a plan.

“This isn’t gonna work,” she said quickly. “We have to-”

She stopped dead as a grenade bounced through the trees and rolled innocently towards their feet. Sharky ran one direction and she ran the other, diving out of the way of the explosion as it shattered the earth where they’d just been standing only moments before. Pushing herself shakily to her feet, Bishop’s gaze darted around for any glimpse of Sharky and found none.

“Sharky!” she called, feeling a growing sense of dread. “SHARKY!”

He’d been close to the cliff’s edge – it was possible he got knocked over by the shockwave. She raced to stare over the side, looking down into the murky waters for any sign of him.

“SHARKY!” she screamed again.

“DO NOT hit the Deputy!” she could hear John barking from afar. “I don’t care what you do with Boshaw but _do not_ hurt her!”

Fear gripped Bishop’s heart as she looked frantically for Sharky in the river, eyes desperate for a glimpse of his head above the water. Movement out of the corner of her gaze drew her downstream where she finally saw him caught in the current. Sprinting as fast as she could, she raced along the cliff’s edge towards him.

“SHARKY!”

She knew John and his men could hear her but she didn’t care – her best friend’s safety took priority. Sharky somehow managed to hear her over the din and looked in her direction; she waved her hands over her head as she sprinted.

“GO, GET TO THE JAIL!” she yelled. “I’LL MEET YOU THERE!”

There was no way to tell if he said anything in response or gave a gesture in understanding; gunfire was erupting again from behind and Bishop was left dashing back into the trees, Boomer hot on her heels, snarling ferociously.

There was gunfire rattling off the trees behind her, pelting off the wood and sending bark raining down all around them. Boomer was yelping desperately, even as she frantically tried to shush him. It wasn’t his fault, but he was giving away their exact position to the Peggies in pursuit…and if he ended up shot or hit with a Bliss bullet…

There was no way she would leave his side – and John would have her right where he wanted her.

Crouching down quickly, she drew Boomer close with a whistle. She held up a corner of the sweatshirt for him to sniff curiously.

“Smell Sharky?” she asked, panting around her words. “Smell him? Go get him! Go get Sharky!”

He understood, barking once before taking off; she raced behind him a ways to make sure he got away safely. Once she saw him start a descent down the sandy hillside she allowed herself to focus fully on the path she was winding through the woods.

Trying to swim across the river as Sharky and Boomer were doing was out of the question when Bliss bullets were in the equation; they could easily pick her off as she fought the current and leave her subdued before she even made it halfway. There was still distant chatter behind her, however, that she felt confident she could continue to outsprint; forwards seemed the only option and she concentrated on the ground beneath her, making sure she didn’t slip her foot into a hole or snag her ankle on a root and injure herself in the chase.

Just as she was thinking to cut through the woods and back west into farmland, the sound of tires crunching through the grass not far away reached her ears; Bishop could practically feel the truck’s presence through the tree line, only just out of sight. A fresh wave of panic seized her heart as she was forced back towards the center of the copse of trees, nearly tripping over herself in her haste.

She thought she could hear someone else tearing through the leaves and pine needles behind her and tried to stay low. It finally struck her to stop running and dig in – give herself a moment to think and breathe. Slipping behind the largest tree she could find, she pressed herself flush against the bark and heaved shallow breaths as she tried keeping her ears open for anyone in pursuit.

“ _Dep-u-ty_!”

John’s tone was practically singsong as he dragged out her title, making her momentarily freeze. Quickly, she slid down to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible and listened to the sound of his footsteps drawing closer.

“You wanted me to come and get you myself,” he taunted, voice echoing to her through the trees. “Well here I am, my dear!”

 _I didn’t think you actually would,_ her mind supplied frantically as she tried to formulate a plan around the hammering of her heartbeat in her ears.

Digging the toes of her boots into the dirt, she brushed leaves over her legs and shoes and tried to camouflage into the tree she leaned against. It was so hard to remain still when her lungs felt like bursting from her chest, demanding breaths that were ragged and so terribly loud in her own ears; she tried inhaling and exhaling sharply through her nose to dilute the sound as she kept her ears open for John prowling somewhere nearby.

“Playtime is over, Anna,” he called out forcefully. “It’s time to end this.”

 _I’ll die before I let you drag me back into that bunker,_ a voice snarled fiercely in her head.

There was that old horrific tale of how a coyote would gnaw its paw off while stuck in a trap in order to escape; only now could she understand how those poor creatures would resort to such an act. She remained immobile, trying to keep track of John’s movements. His footsteps were loud – she could hear him crunching through the underbrush as he stalked his way towards her. She could place him at about 20 feet back, off somewhere to the left; it would only take him another 15 seconds or so before he was finally upon her.

Trying to stay as still as possible, she pawed through the tree’s roots for anything to grasp; her fingers scrabbled over the coarse surface of a rock and she gripped it tightly and brought it slowly up to her chest. She waited for John to draw closer, holding her breath as she listened to the leaves crunch beneath his feet. He was so close she could practically hear his breathing…she could easily reach out and touch him…

The rock in her palm was slick with sweat as she clutched it tightly and tossed it over her shoulder blindly. She waited, breath still held in her aching chest, for the resounding clatter of it tumbling down the hillside. John audibly turned to face the sound and she seized his momentary distraction to launch to her feet and take off sprinting. He heard her boots scatter the leaves and she knew he was back in pursuit, his boots pounding into the dirt not far behind.

“ANNA, STOP!”

She didn’t – she couldn’t.  Even if her lungs and muscles ached and begged for her to stop and let him catch her, she kept running. Surrender wasn’t in her nature; either she dropped dead from the physical strain or he finally caught her, she would never willingly yield to him.

The bridge to the Henbane was directly in front of her – though what good that did now she wasn’t sure. It seemed the Seed siblings didn’t trespass or weren’t allowed to interfere in each other’s territory and she’d been banking on using that to her advantage; but that was before she had John literally chasing her on foot to the very edge of his region. There was no way he would just give up and turn around the second she crossed into the Henbane and she was beginning to realize she’d been trapped after all.

She was faster than him – she knew it to be so. At her best, she would have outstripped him easily; however, she was still recovering from time in his bunker and she’d been full out sprinting the better portion of a mile and a half while John had only just recently joined the chase on foot. Her strength was waning as she steadily ran out of steam and felt cold, paralyzing fear begin to take hold. She knew she was doomed when his shadow started to merge with hers on the ground beneath her feet - when she could feel the heat of his body mixing with hers.

John crashed into her, body-checking her roughly and sending them both plummeting straight to the asphalt below. Bishop’s chin connected solidly with the ground and for a moment she saw stars in her eyes. Then, the throbbing pain helped anchor her back to reality and she was left panting for breath, feeling the weight of John’s heavy body pinning her down. Her eyes looked to Henbane territory in front of her, mere feet away, and felt a rush of agony flow through her.

“It’s over,” John panted from above her, managing to let out a laugh around his gasping breaths.

His satisfaction rolled off him in waves – she could tell just from his posture as he sat up and kept her trapped beneath him. Keeping her eyes straight ahead and on her goal just out of reach was difficult but she forced herself to do it, feeling her eyes grow watery in the face of defeat.

She felt him peel her sniper rifle’s strap off her shoulder and strip it from her back, tossing it aside carelessly. Its noisy, harsh clatter as it connected with the street only served to make the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach grow. One of John’s hands was tight around hers and she was forced to feel the press of his fingers around her wrist as he stroked the healing skin there thoughtfully.

After a moment, he rolled her over onto her back. She offered little resistance - she was trapped between his thighs, there was nowhere for her to go and they both knew it. They stared at each other for a time: Bishop trying to maintain a neutral expression while John grinned in absolute delight.

“I won,” he told her pleasantly, caressing the wrist still in his grasp. “It’s for the best – you’ll see. Besides…isn’t it about time you stop fighting against what you want?”

She could only gaze up at him, taking in the sight of his eyes roving the shape of her mouth hungrily and felt her face heat.

 _What do you really want…?_ she heard her mind question her distantly.

Reaching up to grab him by the coat, she pulled him down to meet her lips. For a moment, he seized up, obviously prepared for a fight; but just as quickly, he melted against her, sighing into her mouth with pleasure. He tasted just like she remembered – absolutely intoxicating.  Her eyes slipped shut as she savored the moment, butterflies exploding from the heat that suddenly pooled in the pit of her stomach.

She slipped him her tongue and felt him eagerly respond, groaning softly and sending a shiver up and down her spine. A hand rose to caress his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against her palm; the other was still trapped in his grasp but he let it be guided up and buried in his hair, mussing up gelled back locks as she ran her fingers against his scalp.

What a sight, she realized suddenly; any outsider coming along would be met with a view of John Seed and the Junior Deputy sprawled out in the middle of a dirty road locking lips. As it was, they were left uninterrupted, which suited Bishop just fine; she wasn’t sure how she would have explained herself to either friend or foe to find her in such a compromising position. All she could focus on was the scrape of his beard against her chin and the taste of his tongue as it brushed against hers.

John released his grasp on her hand to bury his fingers in her hair, cupping the back of her head as he took control. She let him, trying to stifle a soft whimper as he bruised her lips with his intensity. His other hand was traveling down her side along the length of her sweatshirt before finding the edge and ducking his fingers beneath it, pressing his fingertips into the exposed skin at her hip; Bishop could only shiver violently beneath him, senses suddenly overloaded.

He finally pulled back for air and they panted together, warm breath mingling. She opened her eyes to stare up into his face and took in the longing she found there; his eyes practically sparkled with contentment and she found her stomach filling with butterflies all over again. Extracting her hand from his hair, she let it slide down to join the other in cupping his face, watching his eyes momentarily slip shut as he leaned into the gesture.

“John,” she whispered, his name practically a sigh on her lips.

He shifted ever so slightly to sit back on his heels and she slipped her legs out from under him in a single, fluid movement. Coiling them almost taut to her stomach, she planted her feet squarely against John’s chest and put all her strength into kicking out. There was a single moment where John realized what was happening and she got to take in the look of surprise on his face before he was sent sailing backwards. He landed flat on his ass several feet back and she wasted no time in scrambling to her feet and taking off running again. Her rifle was lost – it would have to remain wherever it had been sent spinning minutes before as she bolted for Henbane territory, only just barely grabbing Nick’s hat by the brim as she sprinted away.

“ _Anna!”_

John’s displeased growl from behind sent a shiver up and down her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck as she scrambled for cover. She just barely missed taking a shot to the shoulder, hearing it ping off the sign beside her. If John was so intent on bringing her in alive, he had to be packing Bliss bullets – she couldn’t afford to be hit by a single one.

Lorna’s Truck Stop had only a smattering of Peggies stationed there and they all stumbled out stupidly to watch the Deputy chased towards them by none other than John Seed. Bishop took advantage of their stupor to fire wildly into their midst with her Beretta, inciting panic as they all started shouting and diving for cover. She tried to do the same as another of John’s shots lined up dangerously close to her thigh; laid out on her belly, she could only press flat against the asphalt as an assault rifle unloaded at her from somewhere inside the shop.

“STOP!” she heard John yelling angrily. “CEASE FIRE!”

Whoever was inside knew better than to question him and the gunfire instantly ceased. Seizing the seconds she’d been granted, she scrabbled under the tanker parked a ways back from the pumps and lay flat on her back beneath, hiding behind rows of tires.  As she fumbled with a new clip to load into her pistol, she heard the telltale stomp of approaching boots.

“Oh, _Deputy_!” John’s singsong tone reached her, taut with mocking anger. “We have _unfinished business_ to attend to…”

She couldn’t tell whether adrenaline or excitement was the cause of her sudden uncontrollable shivering; all she could focus on was the rapid fire rise and fall of her chest as she struggled for breath and the sight of dirty, expensive boots as they prowled closer. He couldn’t reach her from where he was but she was also effectively trapped in place; with trembling fingers she holstered her pistol back on her thigh and tried to control her breathing.

“Anna,” John’s tone was back to being pure honey. “Come out, _dear_...”

The second she exposed a single inch of herself from under the truck, he’d shoot her with a Bliss bullet – of that she was certain. No amount of sweet talking could convince her to crawl out and put herself at his mercy; she shifted her gaze up to the bottom of the tanker just above her nose and simply stared, feeling despair gripping her insides tightly.

“We can play the waiting game,” John called down to her, back to sounding satisfied. “I’ve got all the time in the world…”

Eventually, the Peggies hiding out in the store would think to come and grovel before John and he’d have them drag her out kicking and screaming; he really did have time on his side. Her options were rapidly diminishing and she knew it, feeling close to hyperventilation despite her best efforts.

“Come out right now and I _promise_ I’ll make it worth your while…”

John’s tone was heavy with innuendo and she felt a thrill of terror and attraction ripple through her.  She licked her suddenly dry lips and immediately regretted it: she could still taste John and felt herself transported to just a minute prior when she’d initiated that impromptu make out session.

God, this was really it, wasn’t it? End of the line…

She watched as John strolled closer, his steps measured and exaggerated as he approached the tanker she had claimed as sanctuary. Shimmying as far to one side as she could, she made sure to stay out of his line of sight as he came up to its side, stopping mere inches away. Her eyes were on the tails of his coat fluttering in the soft breeze as he stood there and waited for her to make a decision; she remained where she was, just trying to breathe through suddenly uncooperative lungs. When it became apparent she wouldn’t come crawling out, she watched him make a show of bending his knee as he set about crouching down to set her in his sights…

Squealing tires at a distance made her finally tear her gaze away from John’s boots, looking up the road with a kindling of hope in her chest. The off white pickup trucks rattling towards them could only belong to Peggies, she realized with dread; but she watched as John pivoted to watch their approach and found a very small window had just been opened.

Reaching for the Desert Eagle still strapped to her thigh, Bishop rolled onto her stomach and took aim for the farthest gas pump. The blast of the gunshot was practically deafening in such a confined space, leaving her ears ringing for a moment, only to be replaced by the overwhelming roar of the explosion. She couldn’t feel the heat from the blast, at a safe enough distance; but the screams from the Peggies who’d ventured out of the shop was enough of a testament to the scorching inferno she’d ignited. John had scurried to take cover behind a concrete barricade not far off and she could suddenly see his face again as he crouched low to the ground. He felt her gaze upon him and turned to stare back; their eyes met and held for a moment before she thought to take advantage of the distraction and rolled out of her hiding spot.

She heard one Bliss bullet ping off the tire near her shoulder and felt another one whizz through a section of her hair loose from her braid. A second surge of adrenaline took over as she bolted up the hillside, feet slipping momentarily in the soft dirt before she ascended and dove out of sight, avoiding another shot by the skin of her teeth.

“ANNA!”

Stumbling to her feet, she ran without care, no destination in mind except for _away!_ Her mind was too frantic to plot a course anywhere, let alone process information, as she sprinted straight for the thick field of flowers directly ahead and submerged herself in it. John’s shouts became distant as she raced through the thick green foliage, swatting at the white flowers that poked out into her face as she navigated through.

She burst back into the open and felt her head had grown lighter, making running seem pointless; but she pushed onward, dashing through the grass and towards another field of flowers directly ahead. The commotion from behind had died down but she didn’t stop to check and see as she parted another sea of leaves and white petals and fought against the sudden spinning in her head.

Only when she emerged on the other side and out near a dirt road did she think to stop and take stock of everything that had happened. Gasping for breath, she turned and glanced back the way she came in curiosity – what had happened to John? He had been hot on her heels right up until she’d gone into that first field of flowers…now, he was nowhere to be seen or heard. She knew she should be grateful for having escaped him once more, but she couldn’t prevent a sudden feeling of dread from settling in the pit of her stomach, even as her dizzy head told her there was nothing to worry about.

Someone giggled behind her.

Whirling around, Bishop had her Desert Eagle unholstered and held ready at chest height as she looked around for the source. There was no one in sight…though she wasn’t sure if she trusted her Blissed out senses at this point. Everything seemed sparkling and hazy, there was no telling what she was hallucinating and what she was actually experiencing.

Just as she began chalking up the noise to her exaggeration, she heard it again, this time from the opposite direction. Spinning on her heel, she looked around wildly for any sign of another presence. There was nothing: no movement, no other sounds…what in the hell was going on?!

Humming reached her ears from behind and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Turning slowly, she expected to find nothing at all and was surprised to finally see another figure in the clearing. A woman in white stood not 15 feet away, barefoot and crooning gently as she spun in a circle. She danced to her own tune, still humming and casting mischievous glances Bishop’s way.

Bishop, for her part, could only stand and stare, the gun in her hands lowering slowly. Faith Seed…she recognized her from that ill-fated night at Joseph’s compound and that awful video staring Marshal Burke she’d put out condemning Bishop solely for the incident.

Faith smiled and giggled as she skipped through the grass; strangely, Bishop found her feet moving to follow, trudging slowly through the dirt towards the field Faith was strolling leisurely through. She turned and watched Bishop coming closer, the corners of her eyes crinkling in delight; Faith lead the way towards a sea of Bliss flowers cropping up over the hillside.

Bishop had a moment of clarity and ground her march to a halt; she struggled to reason with herself why she shouldn’t follow, to warn her sluggish brain why there was danger ahead. A wild thought appeared in her mind that urged her to turn and run back to John, back to _safety_ -

But then Faith was suddenly back in front of her, just a hair’s breadth away as she reached out to grasp Bishop’s face within both of her delicate hands; Bishop barely had more than a moment to register the green haze tinting her vision before every thought in her brain was suddenly washed away.

All she could see before her vision went black was the pleased, gentle smile of Faith as she looked upon her lovingly.

“Welcome to the Bliss…”

* * *

 

 

"Well, I've got to run to keep from hidin',  
And I'm bound to keep on ridin'.  
And I've got one more silver dollar,  
But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no,  
Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider.  
  
And I don't own the clothes I'm wearing,  
And the road goes on forever,  
And I've got one more silver dollar,  
But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no  
Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider.  
  
And I've gone by the point of caring,  
Some old bed I'll soon be sharing,  
And I've got one more silver dollar,  
  
But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no  
Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider.” 

 

_Midnight Rider, The Allman Brothers Band_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me preface this by saying this: this is NOT THE END. I already have a sequel planned and will start working on it shortly, lol. I would hate to leave Anna and John's story dangling right there.  
> The main reason for starting a sequel easily boils down to the fact that I want to write from John's POV too. I've written dialogue for him this whole time but never from his perspective. And since I've written all 10 chapters solely from Anna's POV, it would feel wrong to try and start suddenly including John's.  
> So that will be saved for the sequel! :D  
> I want to take the time to thank everyone who has supported this fic - it really has meant the world to me <3 <3 <3 Every comment, every kudo has filled me with such indescribable joy, I really can't thank everyone enough!  
> So for the moment, this is where I leave you - but not for long! ;) My hope is to draft several chapters out for the sequel before posting so it may take a little while, but I promise to return!  
> Until then, if you want to come talk John or Anna or just Far Cry 5 in general with me, feel free to hit me up for my tumblr!


End file.
